


Ascendance

by optimouse



Series: Maroon and Gold [1]
Category: Vorkosigan Saga - Lois McMaster Bujold
Genre: Academia, F/M, Gen, M/M, Multi, Time Period: Reign of Gregor Vorbarra, Treason
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-13
Updated: 2019-06-05
Packaged: 2019-10-27 09:54:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 29,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17764553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/optimouse/pseuds/optimouse
Summary: Sofia Vordarian has lived on Beta Colony since she was five and her father was beheaded on Lady Vorkosigan's Shopping Trip to Vorbarra Sultana. Her Uncle holds the District and the title, her mother has remained uninterested, and they chose to send her as far away as they could until she was of some use.They remembered her after the Regency had ended. They probably regretted it shortly there after.





	1. Intriques on Beta Colony

“It’s time.” Sofia Vordarian turned to her uncle, tried for a hug, was rebuffed. He looked like Papa. Did not act like Papa.

 

 

 

So many many years later, far too much bloodshed, tears, and the loss of so much due to her father’s hubris.

 

 

 

 

“Lady Sofia.” The Betan cafes were not her favorite- she yearned for the Barrayar of her childhood. Her table had coffee, a few pastries, and a small plate of vegetables- she had chosen this particular café for their willingness to cater to her food -well, needs.

“Lord Alyosha.” She sipped at the coffee. He was in his House uniform, not his military uniform, and had spent far too much time over the last three months’ worth of weekends trying to carefully court her one way or another- and she has not truly divined his purpose yet. Some ideas, yes.

He wanted the power of Vordarian to lend aid to Vordrozda for something. Most likely something treasonous.  Possibly romantic- but not plausibly. Plausibly dynastic- on his side. Alyosha was bright, yes, but she had had far too much of treasonous plans for her life time. What her grandfather had chosen to do had brought shame upon the family.

“Thank you for meeting me again.” She listened to him, eyes flicking to her armsman, four tables over this time with a book, ears and eyes open and Alyosha finally got to the point and she made all the necessary silly words.

He seemed to think that she was an idiot, which she certainly did not mind. It continued to be a source of amazement to her what young Vor-lordlings would tell Vor-maidens that they were intent on impressing.

Alyosha finally finished, and they made their arrangements for their next meeting even as Sofia’s mind spun with possibilities. He left first and she sat, waited for Lev to make his way over, sit down in the space that the Vordrozda heir had vacated.

“How much of that did you catch?” Finally, she was eating her vegetables. Eat in front of those she trusted, that was something that she had taken away from her childhood.

“Enough.” Lev grimaced across the table from her, picking up one of the selection of tarts that she had ordered, biting into it viciously. Custard went everywhere. “Too much.” Her hairpin was both recorder and communication piece- he had a matching earpiece in his ear- her earrings could be looped in as communication as well. A small splurge a few years before when they still had an ImpSec perimeter and her Armsmen had accompanied her to the small Escobaran Expatriate high school. It had allowed a wider security perimeter than previously used while not sacrificing her personal security. “Your uncle is allowing this madness.”

                “He’s trying to use me as a puppet in this particular game.” She sighed, took a breath. “Lev.” A breath out, in, a moment where she held the air and tried to think instead of reacting. She’d reacted, terrified. Her life here as a professor was peaceful. She had a long-term visa, her four armsmen had as well. They lived in a little Escobaran enclave rather than the Barrayaran Expatriate community- her father’s choices having made that a bad choice for her own safety. “We need to go to ImpSec.” She said it in a whisper, in the house-language that they both spoke.

 

 

 

But first they went home. Lev woke Andrei, Boris and Orel swept the house for bugs from ImpSec and elsewhere. The unsecured communication arrays were both bugged, as were most of the rooms, save the kitchen. It included her bedroom, the armsmens’ bedrooms, and the rooms that her mother had kept, once. If they had kept house staff on premises, those rooms were also bugged. As it were, they were empty and still recording.

Not all of the bugs had the look of ImpSec, but no matter.

Sofia suspected that the kitchen had once been bugged years ago, but over the years they had slowly replaced much of the appliances that outfitted the kitchen, including tables, chairs, stovetop, countertop mixer, and the cold box. It was, after all, the heart of the house. Homework had been done and checked on the table, lesson plans created, weapons cleaned. Meals made and eaten.

Sofia pulled out a sheet of flimsy and marker, started writing. They had not found a camera- microphones only, save on the doors in and out. At least there was some privacy.

_Do we still have the bug blocker?_

A series of nods, Boris went to fetch it to the kitchen table.

_Do you think that we can use it without alerting ImpSec or whoever else has us under surveillance?_

Another round of nods, and Boris turned on the blocker, a small, highly illegal piece of technology that had been bought in separate pieces over the years and pieced together for precisely such an emergency such as this.

“My lady?”

“The Vordrozda lordling who has been making a nuisance of himself is here with my uncle’s permission, or at least, direction. Some sort of idiocy.”  
“You mean- “

“He wants Vordarian support of a Vordrozda plot to put one of Prince Serg’s supposed war bastards on the throne.” Sofia sighed. “It’s- my father’s madness was bad enough. To go against the word and will of Emperor Ezar and displace a dually appointed regent, set aside my mother to further his political goals, and cause a civil disturbance.” She knew her history. “This will be war. Treachery. Treason.” She knew, now, her decision. There was precedent, and her uncle had not properly-well. “Did my uncle ever have any of you re-swear your oaths before we left Barrayar?”

She suspected that-

“No, my lady.” Orel answered and the others agreed. “We were packed off with you as soon as your father was interred.” Orel and Lev were the youngest of the guards, barely sixteen when they had sworn to her father. Boris and Andrei were older, her mother’s compliment originally, and then seconded to her as her father had fallen into his intrigues around the throne.

“I rather thought as much.” She breathed in again, out again. “I am Sofia Ysilla Vordarian, daughter of Vidal Vordarian by his cousin-wife Yvette. Their shared grandmother was Ysilla Vorbarra, sister to Yuri and Xav Vorbarra.” She stated the truth, something that her father had thought to perhaps twist to his own needs. “I am a Count’s child in exile.” She held their gazes for moments, the men whose honor had raised her. “My loyalty belongs to my cousin-the-Emperor.” She took a breath. “My uncle presumes much, given that he has not- interfered.”

 

 

 

 

Wrap dress, bolero in her house colors, hair pinned and covered, hairpin in place. Andrei and Boris were liveried, Orel and Lev in house blacks, they took a rental flitter to the Barrayaran Embassy.

Whispers.

Always whispers in Little Barrayar.

They walked three doors down in the Barrayaran section to a house with a yellow door and an Eye of Horus next to the buzzer.

“The Embassy is the big building.” Heavy Greekie accent, and Sofia smiled, slipped from Galactic to Barrayaran.

“This is Sofia of House Vordarian. I have four of my armsmen with me. I need to speak to whomever is bugging my house- someone approached me.”

“Ma’am?”

“You heard me the first time. Now buzz whoever is your supervisor, and let us in. We’re attracting attention.” She sighed. House Vordarian always attracted attention. Sometimes she thought that shome of her students specifically took her classes to be able to say that they took a class from the Pretender’s daughter.

 

 

 

 

Two hours later, one of the agents and the head of the office were four rooms away from the room where the fast penta interviews were taking place.

“So- they came to us?”

“Captain,” Agent Artes leaned back in his chair. “They moved here right after Vidal Vordarian was interred. She’s the daughter of the woman he put aside to try to marry the Princess Kareen- a woman who happened to also be his cousin.”

“Gross.” Captain Harkness grimaced. “So, this would have been before either of our time here, then. I mean, we knew that they lived here, but her armsmen brought her to Beta Colony when she was four years old. What can you tell me?”

“Her mother never bothered to follow- they live off of a large set of investments that her father made and put in her name, including a house.  Count Vordarian makes an attempt every now and then to try and get his hands on the investments. SO far the previous Count’s will has held as ironclad in that.” Artes winced, thinking about the situation. “Honestly, Captain, I think the woman’s mother also tries to interfere, but so far, that will has held.”

“What about the woman?”

“The house that her father bought is in the Escobar Quarter- I believe it was actually originally supposed to be for one of her father’s mistresses and any bastards.” Artes made an educated guess. “The armsmen raised her. No nannies. The Barrayaran Expat Kindergarten for a year, and then over to the Escobar Intergalactic Elementary and Secondary School. I suspect bullying or social exclusion for the switch. She went to Silica University for her undergraduate studies in history and government, Quartz for her undergraduate work in gender policy. Quartz to finish her graduate work in history and government. She’s teaching at Silica now. Most of her social circle either went to the Intergalactic School or studied with her at the Universities. She also socializes with fellow academics. There have been a few romantic attempts- but honestly, Captain? She was five when she got here. When her uncle and her mother left her alone, she fell off ImpSec’s radar pretty quickly. Her bugs recorded, then are transcribed, analyzed, and not worried about. I suspect that if Vordrozda hadn’t gotten stupid, she would have remained a bored ensign’s task.”

“And now?”

“Captain? She let him keep on talking until he incriminated himself. Then, instead of using it to further herself, she came to Little Barrayar and brought us data recordings of it.”

“You like her.” Captain Harkness actually did as well. “She’s brought us information about a sitting count’s treason.”

“Counts.” Artes stopped for a moment. “Why come to us? Why not just ignore everything? Or help?”

“I think that their fast-penta interviews will tell us more.”

 

 

 

 

 

“We have a problem.” Simon stood in front of his Emperor. “It’s Vordrozda. Vordarian. Probably others.”

Gregor winced-looked to the Count.

“Where?” Aral asked.

“We are not sure.” Simon stated. “We had been hearing chatter about something, but nothing definitive. Then Alyosha Vordrozda made a mistake. He tried to recruit Sofia Vordarian. Or maybe court her.”

“Sofia Vordarian?” Gregor searched his memory- “Yvette’s daughter?”

“Vidal Vordarian’s daughter, by his cousin Yvette.” Aral filled the rest of it. “Questionably his true Heir. She is a year younger than you. Vidal’s brother Vincent packed her and her armsmen off to one of Vidal’s mistresses’ houses on Beta Colony.  Vincent took the Countship- we had too much on our plates to double check on the legality of that- Vidal had been making noises about making his daughter his Heir-Regent until a male Heir was born- I never saw documents to that effect, but it would not surprise me.”

“He did not trust his brother?” Gregor asked. He had studied the Pretender a bit, but perhaps not as much as he should have.

“His brother was an ass.” Aral stated. “Is an ass. I had to intervene twice when Vincent tried to interfere with his brother’s settlements for his daughter. Lady Sofia Vordarian’s dowry includes a set of vaults in the Vorbarra Banks, including two that she will retain sole access to when she marries, and can bequeath to her children without her husband’s access upon her death. This is aside from her living funds. It’s a hefty amount of money, and Vincent’s done nothing good for his district since he inherited it.”

“Recruited Sofia Vordarian—” Gregor pulled them back on track.

“Ah. Yes. According to the ImpSec branch on Beta Colony and their interviews with the Vordarians, Alyosha Vordrozda sought out and tried to court or recruit, still not sure which, Lady Sofia. She listened, and recorded everything. The plan that Alyosha put forward was that a group of counts would try to put forward one of Prince Serg’s war bastards as heir, supplanting or replacing yourself.”

“And she went straight to ImpSec?” Gregor raised an eyebrow.

“I have the recordings from her conversations and from the fast penta interviews.  She’s loyal. Her two elder armsmen are twenty-year men who swore to Count Vidal, and her two younger armsmen were sworn at age 16-the boys and she learned about loyalty from veterans of the Escobaran and Cetagandan wars. She’s smart and loyal.” Simon amended. “History professor, multiple degrees in politics and history. Pissed too. Alyosha Vordrozda managed to be quite insulting and overbearing. Add to the fact that this is the first time that she’s heard from her Uncle in years, and it’s about this- she’s irritated.”

“Next actions?” Aral turned towards Gregor, coaching his foster son through the motions.

“It’s actionable to start taking different parts of the puzzle apart. Vordarian, Vordrozda- fastpenta both the lords. Take Yvette too- she hasn’t reached out to her child either, I’m guessing, and she probably knows something.” Gregor winced. “Has Alyosha been taken?”

“Alive, on Beta Colony. He’s being shipped to us- he started talking there. We can probably get more out of him here, plus he’s his father’s son. He’s been naming names- they’ll cryofreeze him and then ship him out. On colony conspirators will be similarly grabbed, frozen, and shipped.”

Gregor know why- the Betans refused to extradite to Barrayar, thought they could therapy everyone. Maybe they could, but traitors to the Imperium? No.

“Thank you, Simon.”

 

 

 

 


	2. Two

“Professor Vordarian, I was surprised to see you on the schedule for this morning.” Sofia let herself fiddle with her hands, a small amount of anxiety allowable. The Dean’s office was terrifying to a student, a meeting place to professors in small groups. “Is everything going well?”

“No.” Honesty was best in this case. “I have been recalled to Barrayar.” Flat statement. “I am not in trouble, but there has been an issue with my extended family, and it may take some time.”

“Sofia—” They had been friends, of a sort, for years. “How long?”

“I do not know.” Orel shifted next to her. “I will finish out the quarter, and I can give all of my materials for the classes that I was supposed to teach next quarter to the professor that takes the class. I’ve already submitted the syllabi and the books that I’ve selected.”

The Dean steepled her hands and thought for a moment. “Would you mind accompanying a group of undergraduates and graduates? They are headed to Vorbarr Sultana University for at least a year’s study there. One student is hoping to study at the Imperial Service Academy’s archives as well. Their visas are in order, and they are adults, they do not need a chaperone, but…”

“They are Betan.” Sofia smiled, soft and clear. “Barrayar is not Beta Colony, and youth is not always the most…mature time to visit other places.”

“Exactly.” The Dean smiled. “They could use a familiar face to meet with, ask questions.”

“Someone with more understanding of the academic issues than the embassy?”

“The embassy has far more experience digging our students out of holes than preventing them from getting them into them in the first place.” The Dean and Sofia shared a look. It was definitely not uncommon. “That’s most of what you would be doing. Possibly weekly seminars and coffee meetings?”

“My lady— “Orel interceded for a moment. “The district.”

“Thank you, Orel.” She looked back at the Dean. “I may have family duties that will prevent weekly in-person meetings- visits to my family’s holdings on the Northern Continent that are outside of Vorbarr Sultana. I will be able to host virtual meetings the weeks that we cannot meet in person.”

“I should not see why that would not work.” The Dean nodded. “I hope that everything goes well with your family.”

“Thank you for you well wishes.” They stood, shook hands. Sofia refrained from completing her sentence. _I am fairly certain that my Uncle will be tried for treason by the Counts and die in the Square. Another Vordarian whose actions have imperiled the family._

 

“My lady?” Lev fell in next to Orel as they retreated to her office on campus, a small room with a wall recycling liquid fountain over quartz rocks. “Do you think that the babysitting is the best idea?”

Orel’s eyebrow raised at Lev’s words. Perhaps if they had not been sixteen and she five when they moved to Beta Colony, they would be more like what she vaguely remembered her father’s armsmen acting like. Protective, but more subservient- this was quite fine with her.

Andrei and Boris had realized quickly that they would have to raise the young child, not just protect her- and that raising included discipline, reward, patience, and love.

“I would love to continue teaching on Barrayar.” Sofia admitted. “I enjoy it.” She paused, moved several pieces around on her desk. “I am not sure that I am going to be able to. If my uncle has managed to have an heir, then I will be able to continue teaching.”

“You don’t think that he has managed that.” Lev agreed. Given that it was he who sent letter back and forth to siblings within Vordarian’s district, he had the closest data.

“I remember my father and my uncle having a shouting argument about my uncle’s refusal to marry. It was quite loud. After, I am not sure if other Vor families would have been willing to marry their daughter to a family that had attempted to usurp the Emperor.”

“Would he have married a prole?” Orel used the rude word that they avoided around Betans.

“Maybe.” Sofia admitted. “He was very proud, very classicist. But money speaks.”

“A large enough dowry?”

“He would certainly consider it.” Sofia answered Lev’s question.

 

 

“The Armsmen question.” Captain Harkness winced. “She has four assigned to her from the Count.”

“Which Count?” Agent Artes asked. “The Count-her-father? The Count-her-Uncle?”

“I checked, they are listed as Armsmen of the House of Vordarian since the Count-her-Father was alive. He gave the elder pair to his sister, Lady Vivienne, upon his ascension to Count, before her marriage, reassigned them to his first wife after that. Then after Lady Yvette was set aside, they were reassigned to mentor the two young lads in their training and body guard duties when there was a nanny involved.”

“She claims them as hers.”

“Of course, she does- they raised her.” Harkness scoffed. “I’ve sent in more reports to Headquarters, Artes. Legally, their visas are as employees of House Vordarian. Their pay does not come from House Vordarian coffers, it comes from Sofia Vordarian’s coffers- that switched about two months after they arrived, according to the records of the time.” He shoved over the relevant flimsy.

“There’s a note here- something about an appeal to the embassy for a lawyer to straighten out the payments.” Artes reads downwards. Another note, different handwriting. “Someone else- they weren’t able to get the Count to cough up the money.”

“Well, we’ll make copies of everything, send it on the next courier. Do you have news about the pack out plans for our little Lord Talkative?”

“We’ve the cryogenic unit in the basement. Plop him in. There’s a floral and botanical shipment that’s leaving for Barrayar tomorrow.”

“You want to ship him with the flower people.”

Harkness was laughing, full belly laugh.

“My girlfriend works for the floral company.” Artes admitted. “They have a high demand for exotic flowers from some of the Vor-maidens’ weddings. They have to ship them in from Beta Colony and Escobar at exorbitant cost- they make a decent profit, but—”

“Not the kind that makes it really worth it.” Harkness filled in. “I assume that we’re paying for our ice cube to hitch a ride with the flowers.”

“Less than it costs for us to send it with the funeral people.” Artes admitted. “And they have cryo facilities that they use for seeds, fertilizer, and some exotic animals that apparently some of the weddings request. They aren’t sacrificing space to us either.”

“Are they pocketing the money?” Harkness asked, out of rabid curiosity.

“Nope-they want to start a hothouse for galactic flowers. Cut out some of their costs. Maybe work on hybridization.” Artes had heard his girlfriend’s thoughts on the matter before. They needed a Count and a District willing to host them. Rent was too expensive in Vorbarr Sultana, especially for agriculture, and they were a bit too prole for several appropriately-priced districts.

“Good. What about our other guests?”

 

 

Count Vorhalas levied himself to his feet, moved to the chair closer to the fire. It was getting chillier in the evening.

“Sir, there’s a letter for you.” A letter was left on the table. Seal was wax, impressed- a careful finger verified the veracity of the sender. _Imperial._

_Count Vorhalas,_

_We wish you to present yourself and your chosen heir in the Capital post haste to be confirmed._

_By my hand and will,_

_Gregor_

_First of his Name_

_Emperor of Barrayar_

One sentence. He looked to his armsman stationed in the room. “Fetch Manfred and Elke. Pack for Vorbarr Sultana. We leave in the morning.”

 

 

“Byerly, Ivan.” The Emperor was in House blacks, not the Imperial livery, and had abandoned the tone that spoke as if he spoke to the whole Imperium. “Thank you for coming.” He smiled, and then gestured to the table.

Kitchen table in the private quarters of the Emperor, in his Palace in Vorbarr Sultana- spread with flimsies and notes, including official Betan visa photos of a woman with a Vorish set to her face.

“Who’s she?” Ivan picked up the photo- Byerly took it.

“Lady Sofia Vordarian, Ivan.” Byerly looked closer. “ImpSec’s been buzzing about the discovery, and I was informed to keep my ears very wide open. Sire?”

“It’s—” Gregor paused. Took a sip of tea. Late night meetings were not a problem, just…sleepy. Sleep was next, so no coffee. Just tea, and two of his more sensible advisors. “The Lady Sofia Vordarian turned in Lord Alyosha Vordrozda for treason.” Ivan’s head shot up. “He approached her on Beta Colony, and she recorded him and went to ImpSec.”

“Fuck.” Ivan used several other words that his mother would have washed his mouth out with soap for using, let alone knowing. “Did Count Vordarian know?”

“Apparently he sent Lord Alyosha to try and recruit, or maybe court, Lady Sofia.” Gregor took another sip. “He has been arrested, interrogated, and is being shipped home. Other arrests are being made and will continue to be made. I need you two to try and figure out Lady Sofia.”

“What do you mean?” Byerly listened to Gregor’s answer to Ivan’s question, and considered.

“I have ImpSec pulling together a full profile on her and her household-but the going is tough. We have fastpenta interviews, visa interviews, academic and social records- but she grew up on Beta Colony. Her uncle decided to exile her, her mother did not care enough to take her with her when she was put aside- and given that her husband was her cousin and her head of House, the custody issue was further muddled. She went to Escobaran Galactic schools, and then to Betan universities. I do not know her politics, her social circle. Any friends. Her future plans.”

“You think that she’s going to be Count Regent Vordarian.” Byerly was blunt. He could not think of an adult male Vordarian, or a child, for that matter, in the primary or auxiliary lines.

“There are no male Vordarians left who are not under investigation for treason.” Gregor admitted. “The trick is going to be finding her a husband who is willing to marry a galactically raised Vor woman, for whom I have every intention of leaving as Count Regent until her son is of age to rule. No more of this marry the mother, assume the Regency nonsense.” Byerly knew the Emperor had a particular issue with that. “I may even use it as an excuse to get rid of those silly laws about Vor-maidens marrying non-Vor men.”

“You want us to feel her out, then.” Byerly understood. “Befriend and report. Possibly guide, if need be.”

“Exactly.” Gregor paused. “She is-- Ivan, she is Our cousin.” Ivan’s eyes met his cousin’s. “Xav’s sister Ysilla was her grandmother.” A moment. “I knew that she existed- I knew that she was born. I have a few pictures of us playing together during the Pretendership. I thought that she was with her mother.” He paused, admitted. “During the mess with Miles and the Vorloupoulous’ accusations by Vordrozda, I checked to see if Uncle Aral had ordered her death, or if she was killed by accident in the fighting. I did not see anything.” He paused. “I asked, afterwards. Uncle Aral was surprised- he’d known. Sofia is on Beta Colony, he said. Vincent Vordarian sent her there before he had even sworn to me. There is apparently family history there that dates back to the Cetagandan invasions.”

“You’re—” Byerly shook his head. “No, I believe it. Vincent’s an idiot. A power-grubbing one at that.” A hand through his hair, moving carefully sculpted strands apart. “Lady Sofia would have been a threat to him taking the Countship. He was not the heir- his brother had not formally named an heir at that time.” He had studied the Vordarian Pretendership carefully, and then the Vordarians. “If Lord-Regent Vorkosigan had decided that he would rather the Lady Sofia be Count-Regent until an appropriate heir was born, then he would have had no power, except perhaps as her Regent.”

“No matter the history, this is the now.” Ivan stated, looking down at another set of photos. “She has liveried guards?”

“It’s Beta Colony, so they cannot carry weapons.” Byerly paused. “Wait- how many armsmen does Vincent Vordarian have listed as sworn to his house? In his employ?”

“Vorpoulous’ law?” Gregor looked through the flimsies as well, not seeing a number. “Armsman is a hereditary position. Technically- swearing to the Count’s brother—well, even if the swearing—” He took a breath. “I will have ImpSec look more closely at this.” A few rude words that the Lady Alys Vorpatril would wash all of their mouths out for saying. “Now I have to work out how we are going to handle the fact that these Vor-idiots have definitively committed treason, that if we arrest them immediately, we may spook some others, and everything else.”

“Thank you both for coming.”

 

 

 

“Sire.”

Gregor, first of his name, Emperor of Barrayar, looked up from his desk full of paperwork and nodded at the Count- dismissing his armsmen with a hand signal and a request for tea.

“Count Vorhalas. Please sit down.” The elderly Count sat, gingerly, in the plump sitting chair across from the Imperial Work Desk. It had been brought out especially. There was a daily set of chairs that were comfortable, but not truly decadent, and then there was the set that was brought out for the visitors that he wanted to encourage to leave quickly in a very petty kind of way.  “How is your District? Your grandchildren?”

“They are well, Sire.” Vorhalas brooked no more time for the formalities. “That is not why you summoned me.”

“Your granddaughter, the one who holds your proxy in the District, the Lady Charlotte.” Gregor spoke. “We have heard good things about her.” He paused. “That is not why I summoned you.” He proceeded to tell the elderly Count.

 

 

 

 

“That’s the House, My Lady.” Boris came from the final review of the house. They had packed and shipped most of everything on a slow freighter- it would get there slightly after they did. There was a reasonable wardrobe, set of books, some personal things. “My Lady?”

“I barely remember a time when we did not live in this House, Boris.” Sofia allowed herself to twist her fingers into her hands. “I did not truly intend on us going home- I thought that you and Andrei would marry, even if we never heard from the Count-my-Uncle, that Lev would meet a nice Escobaran or Betan girl--”

“An Imperial Summons does change things, my lady.” Boris smiled, the familiar wrinkled lines and smiling black eyes. “The students were a good help as well.”

She had convinced her students to volunteer to help her pack over the last few months. “They were able to see the inside of a Barrayaran home, see objects, ask questions.”

“Learn?”

“That is all we can do. Learn and move forward.”

 

 

 


	3. Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trips aboard ship, university conversations, and some unwanted realizations on behalf of power.  
> Not necessarily in that order.
> 
> Dr. Rios, the Escobaran Professor, is inspired from real life. I decided to cite the appropriate person. 
> 
> Yes, staff meetings. Yes, seminars. 
> 
> Pinterest board: https://www.pinterest.co.kr/katiemichellegordon/maroon-and-gold/ - it's still being curated. Some faces haven't shown up yet. I also have not successfully labelled some names yet. Mea Culpa.

“Finally, the professor who is replacing the twatwaffle from Silica University.”

Several of the professors in the Vorbarr Sultana University meeting room sat up at the Dean’s words. They were stuck hunting for a name, apparently, but this was the first that they had heard that the twatwaffle was being replaced. “Thistlewaith. Thistlewaith is being replaced, according to my last communications from the Dean at Silica University on Beta Colony. I do not know if he decided to no longer make the trip, or if the University there was able to finally answer the formal complaint from two years ago.”

“Either way,” Deric grinned, sat back. A graduate student in policy and civic engineering, Deric Halas spent a great deal of lot of time in the Archives, as well as watching the Council of Counts from the Gallery of Vorhartung Castle. His occasional opinion pieces in the newspaper were vicious. “No great loss.”

“The replacement professor is Lady Sofia, Professor Vordarian.” The Dean watched three pens drop, one to the floor, and sighed.

Deric grabbed his pen from the floor, put it back on his notepad, and asked the first sensible question among the garbled questions from the rest of the committee.

“What are her qualifications? Will she be teaching while she is here?” Slowly, slowly the room calmed as similar questions filtered through brains and the Dean began to answer the question.

“Professor Vordarian, according to her University biography, graduated top of her class from the Escobaran Intergalactic School on Beta Colony. She then dual majored in history and policy at Silica, policy and gender at Quartz University, also on Beta Colony, where she completed her Mastery. She then returned to Silica University to complete a Doctorate in history and taught as a graduate student. Due to student and staff feedback, she was offered a staff position in the policy department there to teach. She currently teaches policy, history, and gender courses.”

The Dean paused, considered. As always during staff meetings there were at least three side conversations.

“It was a last-minute change, that asshat was already scheduled to teach his usual courses. The communications from the Dean at Silica told me that Professor Vordarian has committed only to teaching the year’s galactic seminar.”

“She could certainly handle a semester on galactic gender.” One professor offered, from the Women’s studies’ department. Still nascent, the head of the department would love to have more offerings, especially from a female professor. “Plausibly that could be a year—history of galactic gender, and then modern implications of galactic gender.” To sweeten it—“We could even call the Commandant at the Diplomat Corps Academy and the ImpSec Academy, let them know about it. I know I have had questions before about intricacies that I just do not have enough information about to answer.”

It would not be the first class offered by the University that would benefit elsewhere.

“What about a course on intergalactic politics?” A pet project, perhaps. Deric Halas tapped his pen as he spoke. “Yes, technically we have two, but what we currently offer focus heavily either on war or on Barrayar’s relationship with other planets and empires.  It may help us understand more about other planets and empires to understand how they relate to each other.” It was actually making some of his research on intergalactic trade treaty law very hard.

“To the point--“The Dean cut off the beginnings of what he worried would be an upcoming academic rant at the bud. Now was not the time, best not to let that get started—they could take _hours_. “Professor Vordarian will handle the seminar. The Dean at Silica is quite enthused with her capabilities. Any last questions?”

“Where will she be staying?” A different professor, male, single. “The visiting academics’ apartments?” Off it went again, and Deric left the room. They were not going to cover anything else important in today’s staff meeting.

 

 

 

 

“Professor!” Sofia turned from her mug of tea and the notepad in front of her, setting down her stylus. Across from her Orel stirred from his own pad—a novel, this time, pushed out a chair.

Into it slumped a young Betan, limbs akimbo, grin filling his face. “I thought that we had twenty more minutes until our last meeting?”

“We do, Professor Vordarian.” As always, Emil was laughing. “I wanted to have a drink before I went to the conference room, and then I saw you here with Mr. Orel and I wanted to say hi!”

Orel and Sofia exchanged glances- if Emil had been a few years younger, it would have been over his head. The young man was very exuberant, remained ecstatic, and remained highly amusing to everyone. He had been one of the less useful volunteers for physical labor during the packing, but had been very useful in reviewing old papers and asking pertinent questions.

“I noticed. Anders kick you out again?”

“Said I was getting on their nerves, Mr. Orel!” Emil’s laugh, thankfully, was not irritating. “Apparently I am too ready for our seminar.”

“I noticed.”

“What is it going to be on today, Professor?”

“Did you not read your syllabus?” Orel placed his novel on the table, and stood, went to fetch drinks from the café owner.

“Yes, but professor, you’ve changed the assignment parameters already—”

“I am not the professor who was originally assigned to escort your group to Barrayar.” Sofia did laugh a little. “Though it did not surprise me that Professor Thistlewaith backed out.”

“Professor?” Emil shook his head. “He doesn’t really like Barrayar does he?”

“I had him for History of Barrayar 101.” She had taken the Barrayaran history courses that the university offered, so many, many years ago. Her household had been disturbed— “Believe it or not, he has actually gotten better.”

“Better?” Emil questioned.

“He no longer allows Cetagandan propaganda of their invasions of Barrayar as the sole accepted primary source for his papers on the Cetagandan Invasions of Barrayar.”

“You’re kidding me.” Orel gave his lady her drink, collected his things, pushed in the chairs. The others joined him.

“Lady Sofia wishes she was.” Orel interjected. “We had to petition the Dean of the History Department to examine his syllabi.”

“Why the ‘we?’” They started to walk towards the conference room that the university’s group reserved weekly on board the ship.

“Ah.” This was more personal story than perhaps she should tell a student. However, this was a seminar- amended history!  That would work. “I was still under the age of maturity when I started at the Silica University- by three Betan years.”

“You are a genius?”

“No.” Orel answered. “There were issues enrolling a Barrayaran citizen in schooling here on Beta Colony. Eventually, she tested into the later grades of schooling, which meant that she started at University earlier. It also meant that the household, as her guardians, had to petition the Dean for the syllabi review.”

A not terribly sharp glare from h is lady did nothing to cut him off. “Man is an ass.”

“Orel!”

“My lady, I do not have to work with him.”

“I just wondered why he wanted to take the seminar position to Barrayar, if he is quite so bigoted?”

“I am not sure.” Three more steps and the conference room and the majority of the group of students.

“I am happy that it’s you, Professor.”

 

 

“I was asked by a classmate at Quartz University what I missed most about Barrayar, what was the thing that I found the most different about Beta Colony when I moved- my household will be far better at answering that question and similar questions than I. I was five when we moved. “Sofia sat at the pivotal seat of the circular table. “I will also be keeping an adjustment journal once we get to Vorbarr Sultana.”

“You’ve never been home?” A student, one of the girls. One of the interchangeable Emmas. Weeks’ worth of seminar and the lasses had not seriously given many individually defining characteristics to a professor who made a living out of remembering faces, names, academic interests, and then encouraging them.

“I left when I was five.”

“Seriously?”

” Yes, Freddy.” Named for his uncle, that one. Far more excitable, however. “Moving on,” She had stolen that interchangeable subject changing phrase from her graduate course on the ethics of science and policy, Dr. Rios. It was a lovely, strong phrase that the Escobaran professor had used. A lot. It speckled her thesis because of his influence. “Other questions?”

“What questions can you answer?”

A different interchangeable Emma.

The seminars had officially retreated from academic to more social and travel related the longer that they had been in transit—nerves, anticipation, and excitement. With tomorrow being their hopeful docking on Barrayar, it was –well, if any one slept tonight without the help of sleep soothers, she would be pleasantly surprised.

“Let’s start with what tomorrow should look like.”

 

 

 

 

“There is not enough to arrest Count Vordrozda, based on Count Vordarian’s interview.” His head of security is frowning as he reports to Gregor, in the large room that he had outfitted as his working office so many years before. “Actually, Count Vordarian only ever dealt with Lord Alyosha. Not with Count Vordrozda. He has, however, admitted to a lot of other things that are technically treasonous.”

“So, he knows things, but—”

“The Vordarians—” A moment, Aral spoke, completed it with a grim smile. “Ah. Extant Vorbarra blood.”

“He is also up to his ears in debts, he has been doing something odd with his armsmen listed- my agents are still questioning him as to what.” Illyan frowned. “Two other issues. He was trying, or had tried to sell state secrets that he had learned as part of his service on the Council.” Blood rushed through everyone’s veins, audible in the unexpected silence. Treason in the first. “He also has admitted under fastpenta that he interfered with his brother’s choice of heir.”

That- was—

“Uncle Aral, I suddenly find myself very happy that I have been in constant conversation with Count Vorhalas.” Gregor admitted. “I had a feeling that this _coup d’état_ was going to be more complex to solve that it appeared at first.”

“Simon, the heir.” Aral turned to his old friend. “The heir—legal documentation?”

“Signed, stamped, with the seal of Emperor Ezar.” Simon admitted. “I’ve dug out the audio and the video recordings as well.”

“I see.” A hand gesture.

“Vincent Vordarian’s up to his ears in debts. They wanted an ally, a vote. They could have bought him for bride price and a relationship to power.” Illyan grimaced.

“Puppetry is the Vordrozdra way.” Gregor reminisced. “Votes and decisions bought with flattery.” He filled in the blanks, and then looked across the table at Aral.

“I almost miss Vidal Vordarian.” Aral admitted. “The Vordarian district is in trouble. I have been making discreet inquiries. When you were a babe, the Vordarian district was one of the richest on Barrayar.” Though the reasons for the meteoric rise of that district had been –well, a wife who was the sister of an Emperor had not hurt. “Before he gambled on usurping the regency.”

“We will not be getting any more information out of Vincent Vordarian.” Gregor realized. “He’s wrung dry. However, Alyosha Vordrozda is still frozen, correct?”

“Correct,” Illyan confirmed, thinking of that particular irritation. The lordling’s file had come with so many annotations about attitude that they had not unfrozen him yet, choosing to focus on Vordarian instead.

Thankfully Vordarian had been leaving on an ill-timed vacation when they had chosen to snatch him and his accompanying armsmen for the arrest. It had meant that conspirators had not been tipped off. He had agents checking the vacation destinations, just in case. The final destination had been Beta Colony and a conversation with his niece, Vordarian had confirmed. He had admitted to intending to kill her if she did not agree to marry the man that he had chosen. Alyosha Vordrozda—was not the intended.

“Did Lord Alyosha have any contacts on Beta Colony?” He had arrived weeks before in a shipment of flowers of all things. Illyan had had a quiet word with the accompanying agent, the girlfriend, and the owner.

“No. He went there with a small pack of Vor-lordlings.” A small pack was 3-5. A large pack was anywhere from 8-15. The small packs could do far more concentrated damage than the larger packs- Illyan should follow up with the embassy and ImpSec in Beta Colony. “They were looking to engage in galactic licentiousness on their fathers’ coin as far from their fathers as possible. We manufactured a fling and a trip for him to Jackson’s Hole.”

“Did they buy it?”

“Yes,” Illyan reviewed the data. “To be fair, they are on a lot of different narcotics. We are going to have to detox Lord Alyosha after we unfreeze him, otherwise he will be going through withdrawal as well as cryo-revival sickness.”

Aral smiled. “I know the type.  The Betans may not forgive us.”

“Illyan,” Gregor thought, considered, looked over the data. Set down his mug of tea, and sat up, Emperor Gregor Vorbarra of Barrayar and her Empire, First of his Name. “We will need the copies of the appropriate documentation to prove that Vincent Vordarian interfered in the word and will of the Imperium.” A breath out. “Copies of the transmissions that he had sent to sell information. Illyan, I need you to send the documents to— “He named the legal expert who would be able to best phrase everything. “so that a case can be completed. Vincent Vordarian is guilty of treason, and will die for it.”

“Will this go to vote?” Aral needed the verbal confirmation.

“He’s admitted it, there’s physical evidence.” Gregor breathed out. “We cannot imprison him indefinitely or release him. We certainly cannot allow him to talk. We will release the case- without the section where he had contacts with other conspirators- he committed treason enough on his own. Illyan, the paperwork for the armsmen.”

“Sire?”

“Do you believe that it is enough for Vorloupoulous’ Law?” More than twenty armsmen, whatever had happened with the four armsmen who had been sworn to the previous Count and had accompanied his daughter into exile, but were still listed as in his employ- until ten years ago, and then again five years ago for three years, and now not at all.

“If it is not enough for Vorloupoulous’ Law, Sire, it is fraud on behalf of Vincent Vordarian.” Aral said. “I looked over the paperwork. We might also want an Auditor assigned to the case.”

“We shall consider it.” Gregor picked up his tea, sipped it and grimaced as he realized that it had started to go cold. “The current question is whom, Aral. If you can get me a list of the best three to deal with insurrection, I will have a look at it.” The legal Vor had a woman on staff who would look at the numbers and make them make sense. She was on his list of those who would eventually become Auditors.

“Will that be all, Sire?” Illyan was ready to retire. They all were. Late night strategizing sessions were for young men, truly, Gregor thought. Not for Emperors.

“Illyan, when the Lady Sofia arrives, have your men coordinate with her household. She is officially here to accompany a school trip.” Gregor reminded. He paused. Illyan would know, his office had coordinated it. “Some of her paperwork will need to be re-ascertained- that might work.” Gregor had a thought, and a wish, and dismissed it.

“Illyan, We would have the trial take place as soon as possible.”

 

 

 

 

“My lady, do you need a hand?” Orel and Lev had finished making sure that all of their luggage was ready to be removed from the ship. Their lady had spent the extra credits to ensure that their luggage would be handled by the crew and then baggage handling, before being shipped to where they were staying instead of having to handle and otherwise keep track of the bags. There was a security risk, but the important materials were being kept in the few pieces of hand luggage that they would carry. It included jewelry, paperwork, and a few keepsakes.

“I cannot reach tighten this appropriately.” Lev moved behind Sofia. Many years before, the child he had been would have blushed. To touch a woman’s corset laces was a carefully guarded honor—unless you had also had to remind the woman about the meaning of blood staining her undergarments, had helped her change  after an unexpected push into a muddy puddle as a ten year old from a no longer friendly playmate, and had snuggled her as she had sobbed for her father and her nanny on a transport to Beta Colony.

“Let us help.” The corset laces were easy to tighten, tie, and place. His lady sighed as the compression set into place. “The outfit?” A pale hand gestured to the bed. Slippers, not boots- they had not found any appropriate options on Beta Colony before they left. She was already in her black leggings, and there was an elaborately embroidered tunic on the bed. It would slip over the corset and the undershirt that laid next to it and would stretch from her chin to her wrists. The tunic itself would fall to her knees. The effect was very traditional Barrayaran with a slightly modernized twist- and in her House colors without being a uniform.

To the discerning eye, she would look traditionally minded, with an eye for movement. The corset technically restricted motion, but it also supported her major joints. The cane that was propped on the desk would support her weight while looking decorative. The slippers had special soles to alleviate joint pain.

Her household- the two armsmen that she remembered playing with as a child- being allowed to balance between them as she tried to walk on a tall wall like a trapeze performer—helped her into clothing. “Is it a flare, my lady?”

“I ran out of my medication three weeks ago.” Sofia admitted. Prescription strength Anti-inflammatories. She would not have thought them something likely to be stolen, but she had removed her moving pills case from her purse in a lavatory outside of her rooms and taken her dosage for mid-day meal. When she had pulled them out for her evening meal’s dosage, they had been going. She did not bother to report them stolen—they were not controlled substances on most worlds, Barrayar included. “I am planning on booking an appointment when we have our first free day in Vorbarr Sultana, Lev.”

“I see.” They finished dressing her. “Are you ready, my Lady?” A nod, and she reached out, grasped her cane.

“I am ready to return home, friends. Are you?”

 

 

 

 

 


	4. Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arrivals, a lecture, meeting a few new people, hearing about others.

“The Barrayaran Diplomatic Corps has arranged a private room for visa processing.” Sofia reviewed with her students in the conference room. Their baggage would be retrieved after visa processing from the baggage claim in arrivals before they took a private transport to the city. The twenty-seven students were wiggling in glee, more than one with the red rimmed eyes of too much caffeine and artificial stimulants and nowhere near enough sleep. She was leaning heavily on her cane. The ship had started lowering to Barrayaran gravity yesterday and she could feel the pressure on her bones. “I arranged this with the Embassy before we left. It will allow everyone to be processed at once. We will have access to a bathroom, water, and chairs while we wait.”

“Why?” Not-so-steady Freddy, third child of Steady Freddy’s sister. “Wouldn’t it be faster for us to go through security all at once?”

“Faster, maybe.” Sofia looked over at the number of students. “But Professor Thistlewaith managed to lose an average of two-three students per trip from the spaceport to the university, usually at customs.” Mostly because he was incompetent and did not bother reviewing plans with students more than once or check in with them. “After we are finished with Customs, I will do a headcount. We will then proceed to the baggage claim- your bags will be waiting by then. We will be met at baggage claim by a representative from Vorbarr Sultana University, and a transport. I will do another headcount on the transport before we leave—I will not leave without every one of you being on that transport. If you have decided to hare off on your own, I have permission from the Dean to report you missing and have you dragged back by the Municipal Guard.” It was a fair threat. At least one pair had been lost by going off to shag and then missing the transport. A pause, and then the first thing that she had learned in her graduate studies—how to check for students’ attention. “Where will we be picking up luggage?”

Hands shot up. “Emma?” This Emma was not an interchangeable Emma. Purpling pink hair, cut short and styled today in a short bob, and one finished undergraduate degree in something related to public planning- Emma had come from another Beta Colony University, Basalt, and was doing her new undergraduate work on policy in Sofia’s department. She had strong questions, better answers, and what Sofia suspected was a drive to see if she liked Barrayar and Vorbarr Sultana University enough to do graduate work here.

“In baggage claim, Professor.” A pause, as the student glared at her classmates. “No one is going to wander off, if they know what’s good for them, as if they do, I will have suspicions that some of you have illegal substances to sell in your luggage and verbalize them to the Municipal Guard.”

That was a hefty threat that made the two or three students that she was most worried about sit up and stop messing around. She made the best of the threat by ignoring it—an educator’s choice between discipline and actual classroom management. Some things did not need to be brought up.

“Once we get to the University, we will be heading to housing. According to my briefing from the University, you will be staying in University Housing in the dorms. You should already know the rules- I will reiterate- do not host anyone of the opposite sex in your dormitory.” Orel coughed, Sofia smiled. “You are smart enough, find somewhere else. Speaking of which—” Lev handed out small fabric bags. “I insisted that all of you be up to date with your contraception implants.” Including the males, which had been the surprise for some of the lads. Too bad. There would be no marriages to save honor on her watch. Too much blood in the genitals sapped the sense out of the brains. “The pouches are to be stowed with your things. They contain a set of sexual barriers. I will have more in my office, my household has more. Use them.”

“Professor?” Emil stepped in. “Is this about that epidemic two years back on campus?”

“Yes.” Sofia explained. “Not all diseases are preventable. Someone had sex without a barrier while on a University trip,” here, actually. Thistlewaith had also had a complaint from the local government that the lad had passed something on here as well, without Thistlewaith telling the Barrayarans about it. It had almost caused an incident until the Dean had assured everyone that the twatwaffle had been replaced. “and passed on a disease that they caught on a transfer station to Barrayarans, and then back to Beta Colony and Silica University.” 

The claxons rang, and Sofia sighed, sat. The ship was ready to start the docking protocols, then, having received clearances.

 

 

“Thank you.” She picked up her documents and moved away and towards the small table that had been set aside away from the Customs’ Agents and to the waiting main in the suit, with a discrete Eye of Horus lapel pin. “I am Professor Vordarian.” She used her academic title as she introduced herself, leaning heavily on her cane before trying desperately not to slump into her seat. “You have spoken to Andrei and Boris.”

Sofia allowed the corset to take the pressure of sitting up straight off of her core musculature and her bones. The chair was not comfortable.

“I have.” Short brown hair, strong chin, glasses. Not many obvious identifying features. “I am Agent Leon Garrett, your current primary ImpSec liaison.” He introduced himself. Neither offered hands, and Sofia was glad. Hers hurt to touch, a hand shake or kiss to the knuckles sounded unbearable. “Boris said that you will be accompanying the students to their dormitories at Vorbarr Sultana University, and then returning to where you will be staying?”

Sofia paused, held her breath, thought. This was one of her few cards to play. In the wrong hands, the information could be physically or financially dangerous to her- if her uncle should try to sue for her to give him the property as the head of house.

“Did Boris tell you?”

“No.” The man sat back, waited. She had used this technique on recalcitrant students. They tended to fill the silence, and she could feel the urge now.

“Are you here for my safety, then?” Sofia decided to double check—and then spotted the agent from Beta Colony across the room. “Oh!”

Agent Artes made his way over, took the other chair.

“How was the trip?” His had been cramped.

“Long.” Far longer than she would prefer to be on any sort of transportation with twenty some twenty somethings, especially when she was responsible for them. The anticipation had been worse. “It’s good to be back on the ground.” A breath in, out, and a decision. “Why are you two here so openly?”

“We are to coordinate your security here on Barrayar.” Agent Garrett finally confirmed. There were, Sofia guessed, other duties. That was the point of ImpSec, even if Boris and Andrei had only had strong memories of Imperial Security as it had been run under Negri. Acknowledged spies.

“I will be staying in Vorbarr Sultana.” She confirmed, at last. This card would be played. “My great grandmother kept the houses that her mother owned in Vorbarr Sultana as her own legal properties after her marriage.” They were- “Most of the houses are rented out, and the income returns to a fund that pays their taxes. My father legally left the houses to his female descendants-several are currently unrented, according to my man of business on planet. We will be staying in the house on the edge of the Caravanserai.” She wrote down the address and passed it across the table, eyes on her last students currently finishing with customs. “Andrei and Boris will be going there first to open the house and receive the luggage. They have the house codes.”

“You will be taking the other two?”

“Yes, actually.” Lev crossed the room, bent down, whispered a few words. “Now. To Vorbarr Sultana University. Our transport is here, as is the liaison from the University. Figure out which of you is going where, I need to do a head count.” Sofia took the offered arm and levered herself to her feet, pulling her cane off of the desk and under her hand before leaving.

“I can see why we are handling her security.” Agent Garrett stood. “Can you just see Vorpoppingham trying to?”

“Vorpoppingham would be stampeded over.” Agent Artes agreed. “Of course, the lad has never seen a successful relationship between a man and a woman that did not involve the woman’s complete subservience in his life.”

Sofia let their conversation drift away as she moved to the head of the room and the young man next to Orel.

“Professor Vordarian?” He offered a slight bow, which she was far more thankful for than she let appear. “Professor Gottleb was not able to make it today- an unexpected family emergency.” Tall, reddish hair, and a blue coat. “I am her TA, Deric Halas. I will be helping get everyone settled in.”

“It’s lovely to meet you. I hope that everything is going well for Professor Gottleb?” The young man smiled.

“Ah, yes. Her oldest child is in the Headmaster’s office.” Halas confided. “Again. The angry shouting that I heard from the communications console sounded like the child had caused an unfortunate incident in his history class.” A shared smile. It actually happened to many children of history professors- the challenging of their teacher’s canon interpretation. Propaganda versus reality. She had substituted for more than one coworker with a similar issue in the past. “Are you ready?”

“Yes, yes I am.” She pivoted, holding onto Lev’s arm with knuckles going white. Turned. Spoke. Began.


	5. welcome home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the house that we were raised from.
> 
> Unpleasant surprises.  
> Decisions and delegations in delegation.  
> Thawing and detoxing Vor-lordlings.  
> Taking stock of a need for an auditor, security.  
> Introductions or reintroductions.
> 
> story's pinterest reference board is :https://www.pinterest.co.kr/katiemichellegordon/maroon-and-gold/ in case anyone needs reference points. These are more general ideas than solid reality.
> 
> the working family tree is available in the next 'story' or in a google document-https://drive.google.com/file/d/1j2VUiWjIOT4C4fAKgCFq5uP9mMBQjJZp/view?usp=sharing. this link should allow you to see only.

Sofia awakes alone in the morning, without an alarm or concerned member of her household. The air is not recycled and lacks the bite of the constant use of oxygen scrubbers. The pillows are soft, so are the blankets, and everything is blessedly warm around her.

Everything aches, and she starts slow, stretching each joint and pushing them back, from toes to fingertips as she tries to slowly reacquaint her body parts with the world. They resist, she pushes through, and then it happens again. At last, she heard a knock on the door.

“My lady?” Boris that morning, with a pot of tea. He opened the door, set the tray down on the side table. “Did you sleep well?”  
“I slept.” Sofia admitted. “I do not recall dreams. I think that I may have woken to use the bathroom, but not enough to register that I was awake.” She was in the leggings and the undershirt from the day before, and she could see the tunic and the corset both hanging over the sides of chairs.

“That’s good.” Boris and Andrei had opened the house, and one of the ImpSec men had cleared the place out, she supposed. She was nowhere near awake enough to start asking questions. “Andrei is turning on the plumbing.”

“The plumbing.” She drew a blank. “The toilets and the sink worked last night.”

“They do.” Boris drew back the sheets, finally finished with waiting, and eased her into a sitting position, and then slung her to her feet. It was rough, but she needed to have tea, tea could not be drunk in bed safely, and he got her into the last of the four empty chairs. “The bathing plumbing.” She stared, mute, and then he gave her a cup of tea. The reinforced anti-inflammatory green tea with the hibiscus for flavor. “There is a giant bathing room adjacent to the master suite, with a large sunken pool, a very large shower, and a small electrical sauna.”

“There is.” She blinked. “My great grandmother seemed to be quite smart, then.”

It was her personal home, unlike the others that were spread throughout the city. Sofia Vorbohn was lower Vor, expected to make a decent marriage, not a great one, and had exceeded her family’s expectations first by disappointing them.

Her mother died young, and Sofia had taken over running the household. Her father had set aside a nest egg for his daughter’s dowry and invested it. By the time she was sixteen, he had retired from the city guard on medical leave, his son had taken his place, and Sofia nursed him until he died while running a small mending business out of their home. When her brother had found himself a little Vor-maiden and asked her to find herself a husband, she had chosen instead to take her dowry to buy a large home in the University district and turn it into a boarding house. She had turned it into a rental miniature-empire that had not, actually, led to her being introduced to Emperor Dorca. She had eventually deeded the boarding houses, apartments, and townhouses to her daughter Ysilla before her marriage, the daughter who as an acknowledged bastard had made a strong marriage to a Count.

“I’ve sent Orel and Lev to find a pharmacy. They have your prescription and the note that allows them to pick it up for you. The ImpSec perimeter seems to be doing well.”

“Any messages or deliveries?”  
“One, from the shipping company. Another three days to deliver the house goods.” An informal shrug. “The luggage was delivered, and I laundered most of it. We have looked through the house, milady.”

“How bad is it?” She had a terrible feeling about that. There was an expectation of some disrepair, but her man of business had not communicated to her satisfaction.

“Not good. Not good at all.”

 

 

“The names that you gave me are interesting.” The Emperor turned to his Prime Minister and traced over one in particular. “Vorkalloner is a solid choice, no political alignment, very strong sense of duty.” He was also the only man on the list who was already named to the Auditors. “What was your reasoning for Vorlemov?” The only non-Vor born, Vorlemov’s grandfather had been given the battlefield promotion to Vor by a General during the Cetagandan wars. Politically, they were—alienated. No real land holdings on the Northern continent, a few farms on the Southern continent, and a continuing record of service to the Imperium.

“He’s loyal to the Imperium. His family does not have a liege lord outside of yourself, so no particular interest in the outcome of what is found, save that it serves you.” Aral had liked the man’s father, no nonsense, sensible soldier who had seen a gap in intelligence, filled it, and then reported it. He also did not have much patience for the Vor that his father’s new promotion had suddenly brought him among. He was honorable to a fault, but he eschewed foolishness and politicking.

“Why did you put Vorozette on the list?” Gregor questioned.

“He’s just lower Vor.” The distinction was actually fairly blurry there. “He understands the Vor madness, and takes no shit.”

“Politically, though—”

“You mean that his family supported Yuri?” Aral admitted it. “Yes, paternally, they did. They also lost a great deal for it.” A breath, considering. “Vorozette’s education in politics is strong, and he was in consideration for ImpSec before the DiploCorps scooped him up for his skills in languages. He is currently seconded to the Academies and teaching languages at both.”

“So, he would blend into the people who we are curious about very well.” Gregor continued to consider the options.  “Uncle Aral,” he knew his genealogy. Technically they were third cousins somewhat removed. He would call the much older man his Uncle as that was what the man was, a guiding hand helping him grow. Miles and Ivan were cousins, friends and supports and trials as he matured. “I am worried, but I cannot focus solely on this.” He knew it, knew it innately.

“Delegation.” Aral used the word.

“Indeed. There is something going on on Komarr, Cetaganda is being…well.” Cetaganda. The ghem were up to _something,_ and no one was quite sure _what_ yet. “My ambassador on Escobar is reporting that he is receiving new forms of friction with their government.”

“Adding to that a possible conspiracy for the camp stool,” Aral agreed. “Delegation. You already have multiple people working on the conspiracy. How would you like to proceed, Sire?”  A measured question that encouraged, well.

Gregor thought, made his decision, picked up his pen, and started writing out his orders. First a set of summonses, then the ninth Auditorial Seal from storage, and his will became the word of law.

 

 

 

In an ImpSec safehouse two cities away, Lord Alyosha Vordrozdra came awake with a coughing fit and the collective winces of the men and woman around him. The woman had a pad in her hands and several sets of medical tools in holsters around her belt.

“Why did you not dry him out before you froze him?”

The singular ImpSec man who was with him and had been with him from Beta Colony looked down at the writhing man.

“Do you want the honest answer or the asshole answer?” Artes looked at the man, scoffed.

“You have an asshole answer?”

“Okay.” Artes gave the asshole answer. “He was annoying before we started trying to detox him on Beta Colony. Really fucking annoying.”

“And then you started detoxing him, his answers did not get better, and he got even more annoying.” The nurse filled in, shrugged. “I’m surprised that you did not sedate him through the detox.”

“Beta Colony gets tetchy about ImpSec presence.” The honest answer. “Captain Harkness wanted him off planet before we had to deal with the Bloody Shrinks again. The orders to bring him home came just in time. Transporting him frozen is far preferable to transporting him awake- that’s just a general rule.”

“You know I can hear you.” Alyosha spoke.

“I do.” Artes grimaced down. “If you don’t know by now that you are irritating, then somewhere along the way, you stopped paying attention.” A pause. “I actually thought that you had cultivated it.”

“You were not very subtle.” Artes spun and left. The boy had useful information, but he could not handle the interrogation himself. Thankfully, now he did not have to.

“Agent Artes, orders came in for you.” A runner with a sealed message. He cracked it, read it. “Sir?”

“Thank you. I will be heading back to Vorbarr Sultana.” It really was both. Both answers were correct. He could only hope that the specialists here could find out more. It felt as if this case had hit far too many dead ends as it was.

 

 

 

 

“We are going to need to gut the gardens.” Sofia was finally standing, leaning on Boris’ arm and her cane on a sheltered upper balcony and looking down at the courtyard garden. Most of the interior of the garden was encircled by a roofed walking space, and there was what looked to be a centralized pond and fountain structure. “They—are overgrown in some areas.”

“The ImpSec men who cleared the house yesterday are worried about how the gardens affect security, with the wispy way that some of the vines grow to the roof, over the walkway.” Boris recounted. “Also—do you see how the wall is tilting?”

“The vines are starting to pull at the wall and roof?” It was the back wall and roof. Unlike the rest of the walkway, it did not formally abut the house. There was, however, a doorway there, according to family legend, that could be used to escape into the public gardens behind the house if need be. “That will definitely be on the list.” The last person to have charge of these estates- Vivienne, her father’s only sister, had perhaps not had the time to see to the estates. She had married young, gotten pregnant young, died without a child young.

“Are you ready to start getting dressed, my Lady?” Less pressure on his arm, more on her feet, and she nodded, turning to move towards the room that she had spent the night in. “We brought the luggage there last night as well.”

“Everyone’s luggage arrived safely, intact?”

“ImpSec or Customs seems to have checked all of it at the Spaceport.” Nothing that they had not foreseen. Important, eyes-only documents would not be traveling in checked luggage. “No surprises, however.” No added bugs within the luggage. They hadn’t swept the house, then, either. With an ImpSec security perimeter, they would only be replaced with ImpSec bugs, however—“Are the two Agents staying on premises?”

“No.” There were official servants’ quarters, a whole floor of a wing of the house—something that had surprised him. Vordarian Stronghold was built into a cliff. The armsmens’ quarters were within the Stronghold, but at some point the Stronghold had run out of space to build. Utility had won over comfort. “We have space, but not nearly enough of it is clean.”

“Or intact?” Sofia guessed at the rest as Boris nodded in agreement. “Well, then. After I dress and eat, I will have to start a formal list of things that need to happen around the house. People that we need to contact. Appointments that need to be made.” She shoved out a breath. “I believe that I can handle dressing on my own this morning, Boris, if you help me with the corset again. A pair of canes should also help.”

“Do you want to speak with the ImpSec agent directing the detachment today?” Boris assumed so. The conversation yesterday would not have been enough to satisfy his lady’s need for understanding of the situation, and he could only offer his own observations, and his comprehension of other’s observations. If nothing else had made a strong impression while accompanying his lady to her History of Law course years ago, it was that observation and eyewitness testimony was actually the least reliable form of evidence. Memory shifted and changed. While it could be trained to be as accurate as possible, memory had it’s flaws next to machine-recorded evidence.

“Yes, I would.” They arrived back at her temporary rooms. “During or after breakfast.” She was never picky. Today would be busy enough as it was. Two days off until the preparatory week before school would begin for the semester.  Staff meetings, student meetings, and what she suspected would be the emergency writing of a few new syllabi.

 

 

 

“Agent, you are being rather unhelpful.” Sofia took a defiant sip of her coffee and put it down. She sat, the Agent remained standing. She had offered him a chair and he had refused. She supposed that he thought that it would make him seem intimidating, dominating, or otherwise in charge. She rather thought it made him seem like a petulant student trying to convince her to change a grade that she had no intention of changing.

“Ma’am, I am under orders—”

“You are under orders, Agent Vorpoppingham, to keep me safe. I am not under house arrest.” The man’s pale complexion took on another shade of aubergine. “Agents Artes and Garrett were introduced to me yesterday afternoon. I assume that you are the evening shift?”

“Ma’am--.” The agent behind him in the doorway was smothering a smile and had yet to step in to save the younger man. A hint of sadism or did the man think that the Vor-lad needed a dose of reality?”

“Professor.” Sofia used her voice like a whip. “Professor Vordarian.” Crack. “I earned that title with my time, sweat, words, and tears, child. Use it. I have a duty to my university, and you do not want me to visit?”

“It’s not safe!” She had met sheep as a child who had not bleated so. “We haven’t cleared Vorbarr Sultana University.”

“Given that her excuse for returning to Barrayar is to chaperone students from Beta Colony to study there, Agent, that will need to be remedied.” Garrett stood straight, brushed around the man, and mimed a bow over her knuckles. “Professor Vordarian.”

“Agent Artes.”

“You want to go to the University?” He asked. “Today?” She was almost unnaturally straight, and he suspected that she had a support brace underneath today’s soft sweater tunic. Two canes instead of one leaned against the table held down with a cup of coffee and a note pad.

“No. Not today.” Vorpoppingham shuffled back and forth. “Tomorrow, probably in the late morning or early afternoon. I need to check my new office out when I have had more rest. Some of the professors that I met yesterday afternoon were making noises about me taking on more courses for the next semester-starting next week.” She paused. “There was also talk about offering the classes as well to students at the Academies.”

“We can certainly coordinate with the ImpSec squads that normally monitor the University and the Academies.” It would definitely not be the first time that a target went to any of the three schools- in fact, there were protocols for the Emperor as a student that were still in the playbook. “Is there anything else?”

“Oh yes. I wanted an as honest-as-you-can assessment of the house’s security and ways that my household can help ameliorate the problem. I have already identified one possible issue- the back wall needs to be detangled and then fixed.”

“We could—” Garret looked as though he was considering for a moment. “I could give you a report, would that work?”  
“Written?” Sofia smiled. Written was perfect. Written could be mined for more information, phrasing often indicated when something had been omitted, and what. It would also work wonderfully with her lists. “Written would work wonderfully. I am also planning on having a licensed and bonded company come in and do a deep clean of the house.” Andrei’s report about the majority of the house was devastating. She had wanted to look at the Masters’ Bedroom- the room that Xav and Ysilla had been conceived in, most likely. “The same with a landscaper and a handyperson.”

“ImpSec has several that have already been cleared to do work on the Imperial Residence.” Sofia winced, thinking about her finances. There was the money from the rental down payment on the house on Beta Colony. She had been setting that aside for a rainy day, but until she could speak to the man who was supposed to be running the rental homes in her name or managed to reopen her banking lines at the banks, she was a little tighter on money than it would take. She had planned on a deep cleaning for the home, and set _that much_ aside. She had not foreseen _this much_ damage, especially as the images that the business man had sent—wait.

She noted that down. Have her man of business provide her with his books. Enquire how to have them audited.

“One last thing. I will be receiving communications throughout the day, Agents.” Sofia sipped at her coffee. “Fellow professors at the University introduced themselves yesterday, as did the Dean. They may or may not ask to stop by today to discuss plans for the coming school year.” She watched the ImpSec Agents’ faces for clarity of their feelings on the matter. “I am inclined to have them over as it will help me start to plan.” It also made her consider the propriety here on Barrayar of having students over for cultural exchange dinners. After helping cut out pieces of her garden.

“Understood.” Garrett nodded. “Professor, your other two men—where are they?”

“Lev and Orel went to find the closest grocery and pharmacy.” Sofia explained. “Together is usually safer for them.” She smiled at that memory.

“Do they get into a lot of fights, then?”

“No, Agent Vorpoppingham.” It was a good story. “After I finished my first undergraduate work at Silica, we moved to Quartz City. One evening, Orel went to the shop around the corned from the flat that we had rented to pick up dessert—” another boyfriend had not wanted to wait until she was ready, and until she received permission to wed. _Too Much Barrayaran Barbarity_ , he’d said. One of Lev’s romantic partners at the time had also left that constellation as well. Dessert had seemed like the more sensible idea than alcohol, and Orel had left the sobbing pair on the sofa. “and he was gone for three hours. Lev and I had to go to the guard station and ask for a bulletin to find Orel. He had managed to buy our desserts but get lost in the five hundred feet it took to get back to the rental flat. Since then, Orel is not allowed to walk to the shop or anywhere else on his own until he can manage to navigate both of them there without a map or a guidance system thrice.”

“Professor, your household—”

 

 

Gregor could hear a woman’s voice inside. He had had his security detachment quietly warn the house’ detachment of ImpSec, notify the household. Now, from the front steps, but inside the gates, he held up his hand to knock.

It was a nice house, run down, with a covered parking area, a round driveway. Predated Emperor Dorca’s era, which did not surprise him. At some point, renovations looked to have stopped.

“Professor, your household—” and he knocked. A man came, let him in, barely said a word.

It was good that the man did not say a word, Gregor did not know what to say to him. He barely knew what to say to the woman whom he had come there to see.

He could hear the man slipping in front of him, through doors into what he assumed from the layout that he had seen so far was a library of some sort.

“Lady Sofia, the Count Vorbarra is here to see you.” He had come as Count Vorbarra, a political subterfuge that he would have thought to be lost on a Betan-living prole household member, but—his lady had studied politics, government, history. These were the kinds of things that diplomats kept in mind. Presumably, the teachers of diplomats also kept them in mind?

The man- his photo, that was her man Andrei. He opened the door, as did one of the ImpSec agents.

Images, he thought, eyes on the woman standing braced on two golden canes, did not always do a person justice.

“—My Lady.” He spoke into the silence. “Lady Sofia. It’s been too long.” She smiled at him- and the smile was the same as it had been when she had smiled at him over a little castle made out of blocks on the carpet of his mother’s solar. It shone. “Welcome home.”


	6. pissant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> conversations  
> reviewing the house  
> meeting /that man/ and a man  
> meetings in libraries  
> meetings in rooms with far too much space on the walls
> 
> pinterest- just because- https://www.pinterest.co.kr/katiemichellegordon/maroon-and-gold/

In the wake of her Emperor’s visit, Sofia took an hour to regain her footing for the day. The conversation was heavy, disconcerting, and changed her view on the world, if not her immediate plans. She suspected that she would remain thankful that the ImpSec agents were excused for their conversation as well as her household. Alone with her Emperor, an unrecorded conversation with his personal jammer.

The words that he had spoken continued to be mulled at as she reviewed the house, took some temporary stopgap medication, made an appointment for later with the man of business, invited the professors over for tea, and finally managed to have a moment or twenty alone with her household.

There were the old-tech ways of avoiding an audio bug- and she took out the sheet of paper and put it on the kitchen table as they ‘reviewed the contents.’

 _My uncle has been arrested. The trial will be on Thursday at an emergency quorum of the Court of Counts._ She knew how to write fast. This needed to be shared with her household, but not with the security perimeter. She trusted them, _however_ , that was for a given value of trust. _I have been ordered to attend the trial. House colors for the household._ She paused, wrote a few more lines. _I am going to need a dress. You will need uniforms of the household, not worn house Blacks and tight uniforms from thirty years ago._

She held the paper down for a few more moments before tearing it into small pieces and putting it into her mouth. Flame was best; however, a sudden flame would be suspicious.

“Andrei, Boris, with the house repairs, do you think that we can afford new household clothing?”

“I think,” Andrei hesitated a guess. “That we shall need to first find a tailor and a modiste.” A nod, and Sofia thought of the small chest of jewelry in her carry-on luggage. If all else failed, she could sell a piece of jewelry. Some of the ancestral pieces were worth small planets, according to the jeweler on Beta Colony. What her father had been thinking by allowing his small child to use them to play with, she would never understand. “Someone who is willing to work quickly.”

“They may be more willing to work knowing our house.” Sofia admitted. “Or less so.” She considered. “A prole might be best for the dress.” She knew just enough of Betan fashion to avoid it entirely and preferred the tunic and leggings that her friend’s mother had suggested when she was barely fifteen and trying to put together an adult’s wardrobe rather than a wardrobe full of children’s school uniforms and play clothes.

“Does the University have a fashion department?”

 

“Fraud.” Sofia really did not like this squeaky little man. She had left her warm house to deal with this man. “I will have you in front of a judge on counts of fraud!”

“For what,” Andrei’s voice was a comforting purr. “pray tell? We have photographs of the houses that Lady Vordarian owns and that you are contracted to maintain and lease out, as well as her copies of her contract with you, the copies of the rental contracts that you forwarded on to her, the rental agreements that the renters signed, as well as what is currently on file with the district housing commission. We have the previous rental agreements on file and that you forwarded us, as well as your tax documents.” That morning had actually been very productive for Orel and Lev. The grocery had been one of multiple trips. They had ended up stopping at the house only to turn around and head to the Municipal Guards as well, with copies of the paperwork.

The only reason that Sofia had even thought to come to the meeting instead of allowing the Guard to arrest the man first was so she could see him. Possibly also to see him as he was being arrested.

“Andrei,” Sofia looked out the window. “Stop playing with the man.”

“My lady?” A new squeal, even more grating.

“There are four men in the Guard uniform outside. Boris, would you let them in?” She let herself indulge in a nasty smile. “There’s a fifth man out there as well. He’s wearing a seal around his neck.”

“An Auditor?” Sofia’s nose wrinkled at the smell as the Guardsmen were led into the room, followed by the man who managed to scare that _thief_ enough to cause the mess on his chair.

“That was a particularly odorous man.” The Auditor was not quite what she had expected from her understanding of Barrayaran history and government. He had some grey hair, yes, but that was over brownish-black hair, piercing eyes, and a bit of a laughter-filled voice. “I was a bit surprised to be requisitioning some backup at the local Guard House and then find out that a small squad was already being sent to arrest the man.” He laughed, a bit harsh. “I arrived here, and your man opened the door to let us in.”

“I left the realm of betrayed by the head of my House and Patriarch behind months ago. This morning, walking through the House that has been in my family since before Cetaganda invaded, I finally made it to what my nurse used to call the Vordarian Mountain Rages.” Sofia admitted it, owned it, honed it as a weapon. Lessons had been learned since her childhood about them- she remembered that her uncle had had the Storm Rages- loud and brash, crashing like the sea, destructive as well. The Mountain, like the Stronghold, was what the Storm crashed and died against.

“How much damage?” The Auditor and she still had not introduced themselves, and they really should.

“In Betan dollars, hundreds of thousands, just inside the House.” She let a little of the rage loose. “The House, that I can live with. I am more concerned about the damage that he has done to the estate. My father hired him to handle the rentals and upkeep after my Aunt Vivienne died. Given that the rentals are homes, I sent two of my households to review them. He made oaths in my name, and then broke oaths with myself and my tenants.”

The Auditor—she kept her eyes on his. It was a technique that she had taught herself that would not have worked on Beta Colony, but had worked on several male suitors from Little Barrayar as well as the Escobaran Enclave that she had found unsuitable in the past. First, they started to shuffle their feet, then they lowered their eyes. In a few notable cases, they had nodded at her, and conceded with acknowledgement.

“Aleksandr Vorlemov,” He offered a hand, and she accepted it. He shook, instead of kissing it. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Professor Vordarian.” He would do.

“Auditor Vorlemov, I think that we are going to have an interesting acquaintance.”

 

 

“I really hope that you called ahead.” Sofia paused, blushed, rewalked her words. “Good Evening, I am Sofia Vordarian, Professor Vordarian if you are being formal.”

The one introduced as Ivan was still laughing, so the other, Byerly, took over.

“Byerly Vorrutyer. My somewhat-vaguely cousin Lord Ivan Vorpatril, which really means that he is in a line of succession, and has that title, but he’s not too terribly close. Your actual cousin.” Byerly made the introduction, stopped, reconsidered. “If the Emperor would announce an official line of succession, actually, Ivan would be on the list. Either second in line or fourth in line, depending on who did the order and why. That’s why there’s a lordship in there. His grandmother was a Princess, so that had to bring something to the bloodline.”

“So, I get the pair of you on my first day here?” Sofia actually thought that the less titled of the two seemed smarter, but they definitely were both here with a reason. Why else would they be in her library, in her house, on the edge of the Caravanserai? Uninvited.

“Ah.” Ivan had stopped laughing, at last. “You reminded me of someone—” his etiquette tutor, or some other teacher, she knew. He was not hard to read, or he had let his guard down? She hoped it was the second. “We are her because we wanted to meet you before the semester begins, and you got busy.” A pause. “Our mutual Vorbarra cousin,” excluding the Vorkosigan cousin that the shared and probable others. She thought that she really did need to learn more of the Barrayaran genealogies, even if her family’s immediate past was intricate. “recommended that we make the introductions ourselves before too long.”

“Nice place you have here.” Byerly had begun exploring the corners of her library, taking advantage of her distraction with the conversation. Stalking the perimeter along the bookshelves to the windows over the courtyard below, the library stretched the length of one wing of the house, he made the trip around the table and back.

“You mean a wreck.” Sofia corrected, eyes on the man as he slunk. “Great bones. The library is actually in the best shape of the house. The least physical damage, and it was triple locked, including an archival lock. I’m going to remain thankful that the main plumbing lines were turned off. While some of the taps worked on a minor line, the big things like the heaters, the fountains, the irrigation, the kitchen and washing areas, those were all drained and turned off. If they had not been, at some point they would have frozen and then ruptured, causing massive water damage and possibly shattering some of the walls.”

“IS there anything that we can help with?”

Sofia considered. The tags were long gone on Boris’ and Andrei’s House Uniforms, and they would all need a new set of formalwear for Thursday. Could any of her household still officially wear the House Uniforms? She would have to check- however, new House Blacks would certainly be shopped for as well.

“Where do we make appointments to order House Uniforms for my household?” She believed the qualified- close retainers of the Vordarian household, liege-sworn. She avoided verbalizing her other question: _Would they even be allowed in the door?_ There had been places in Little Barrayar where they had been turned away.

“I can certainly help with that.” Byerly was nodding. “Do you need a recommendation for a modiste?”

“If Byerly doesn’t have one,” Ivan, that one was Ivan, Sofia remembered. Neither of them were as handsome as the Emperor. “my mother’s modiste, Estelle’s. She swears by the woman.”

“I was actually hoping for a modiste originally from Vordarian District.” Sofia had certain exacting plans. Plans were as much about image, relationships, and perception as enactment to be successful. “Or help looking in the attic.”

“The attic?” Ivan was puzzled, but Byerly, the slinky one with common sense and a face that was harder to read was smiling. Sofia thought that it could be scary to someone who had never met an angered parent with over-involvement in their child’s educational life. “Why?”

“Vor habit of not throwing anything away.” The man probably had found things in or played with things in a family member’s attic. “The oddest things can be found up there.”

“My grandmother wore one of my great-grandmother’s gowns for her wedding.” It had promptly been sold afterwards at the Princess-Countess’ insistence. It had funded the repairs of three District schools bombed by the Cetagandans under the dubious intelligence that they were harboring rebels. The veil and slippers had funded the repairs on the town next door. Whether or not there had been rebels, many had died.  “I could certainly have the fabric remade if I do not find anything that works.” Waste not, want not, Andrei’s favorite saying.

“Exactly how broke is House Vordar—wOOOFFF!!BY!” The younger was cut off with an elbow to the gut.

“Good question.” Sofia shook her head. Considered the circle of trust involved in letting them know. They had been sent by her cousin. “I am not entirely sure.” She admitted. “I have a copy of my previous _man of business’_ books, but as he was recently arrested for something, I’m not sure how long it will be until I can regain the missing funds, or if they are gone for good.”

“Oh?”

“The man was billing me for house repair, Lord Ivan.” She let herself snap. “I have a hole in my house’s roof. There are also tenants involved.” She rubbed at the bridge of her nose. “I do not suppose that you know of a good financial auditor that takes payment in cookies? Books? Language lesson in Escobaran?”

 

 

 

 

“Were you able to schedule an appointment for me with a doctor for early this week?” She looked up from the book. The table was scattered with notebooks, notepads, more books, and a salvaged cup of pens.  “As well as for everyone else?”  
“Yes.” Lev sat in the empty chair. “It’s been a busy day, Lady Sofia.” He was still there when she looked up, eyes filled with tears of exhaustion, exasperation, and worry.

“I should have said no to the classes that the University wanted me to teach.” Sofia twisted the pen in her hand, leaving the scribbled notes. It was the start of a syllabus. “There is so much that I am going to have to do, Lev.”

There are three other people in the universe she would not consider stabbing for what Lev did next, Sofia thought as her pen fell to the table and Lev held both her hands so softly that she let herself cry.

There are times to allow one’s self this weakness, and she allowed it then. Allowed? Indulged? Let her body process shock, grief, anger, ineffectual fury at the things that she could not change and choices that had had to be made, choices that would change the rest of their worlds, their lives. Shoulders shook, tears streamed, and a nose went from pale to a bulbous snotty red and it was another, improper indulgence to wipe her nose on the closest piece of spare cloth, a piece of ripped up cloth drape from the furniture, removed this morning.

Lev chanced an arm around her shoulders, and she let herself curl into him. It was a familiar warmth that they would not be even allowed to show in public here, unless they were all free of anything involving House livery. The only privacy for the closest thing that she had to family was there, in her home.

Eventually the quiet sobs slowed, stopped, and she just breathed. She could be tired and exhausted, that Mountain of Rage having finally broken in the safety of her home. “I have a great deal of work to do.” She looked up. Through the tears she had felt the rest of her household slowly trickle into the room. “Will you be willing to help me?”

 

 

“Auditor Vorlemov.” Byerly managed to slink. It was, Ivan thought, a rather interesting way to walk. In his own observations, many Vorrutyers managed to strut, but Byerly was _slinky_. It was a trait that his cousin Donna could share if she chose. Not for the first time, Ivan regretted that his tastes did not turn to men. Byerly’s sharpened mind was quite attractive. Ivan, following behind him, had a chance to get a read on the man.

Smiling eyes, greying brown hair, not quite as tall as Ivan. A jaw that said that character and stubbornness. Not in a military uniform, but in a suit that would pass as a business suit until you caught the tiny insignia on the lapels that showed the crest, presumably, of his family. Auditorial Seal. So Vorlemov was the temporary Ninth Auditory? Good choice- almost not-Vor, actually got the prole. Ivan was well aware that there were far more non-Vor than Vor on Barrayar, even if half of his mother’s social circle had yet to catch up with the times. Familial history of getting really angry about illegal orders, which was not a bad thing when dealing with treasonous acts. How many Vors’ armies had died due to marching against the Emperor’s rule, following illegal orders? How many people had starved when—well.

“You must be my high-Vor liaisons?” The man made it sound like a question. “I’ve had my briefs from everyone- including a rather interesting conversation with the Professor Vordarian this morning.”

“You as well?” Ivan had been rather impressed. Strong women impressed him, a side effect of his mother and his Aunt Cordelia, he rather thought. The Professor had owned him in that conversation—Byerly had had a bit more luck, but he had run out. Shiny gold hair had blinded him, and then he had been struck over the head by her brain. “I am Ivan, that’s Byerly.”

“I know. Lord Ivan, Lord Byerly.” He paused. “Did you meet her at her house?”

“We did.” Ivan raised an eyebrow. The walls of the room were covered in printouts of images, floorplans, enlarged paperwork. The man had been hard at work in here. On one wall was the beginning of a web of people. Another had a line with events on it, carefully marked on pieces of paper. He recognized two photos- “That’s what the house looked like?”

“Back before Count Vidal died, yes.” By whistled.

“It looks very different now,” Ivan managed. “Paint is stripping,” he was impressed that he remembered that technical term until he remembered the lass who had taught it to him. “overgrown. I suspect that at some point squatters made it through the front security perimeters and set up camp there before the Municipal Guard evicted them.”

“What did you see inside the house?” Ivan considered for a moment, trying to figure out an answer.

“There’s a hole in one part of their roof- they will have to patch that. It looks as if some of the furniture was removed forcibly, which meant that parts of the decorative handrails were detached and had fallen. It looked like it had once been a gorgeous house.”

“It was—” By was giving him a glare. “Do you not know your history? That was the house that the second of Emperor Dorca’s Empresses’ bought and refurbished for herself. Prince Xav and Princess-Countess Ysilla were born and raised in that house before their mother married Emperor Dorca, after being his acknowledged Mistress for twenty years.” Byerly shook his head. “I think, however, that I am more impressed that the library seems to be completely intact.”

“Oh?”

“Bookshelves had drop clothes pulled off and tossed to the side, a central table with relatively comfortable desks. When we had got there, there were already lists and whatnot on the desk.”

“So, the Professor is settling in, then.”

“The Professor looks like she will be there for the long haul.” By admitted. “She had calculations out for the costs to fix the house itself. She also had a list of things that she could sell off quickly for large amounts of money.”

“That tallies with what it looks like her _man of business_ was up to.” Ivan tilted his head. “I wanted to look at the man because he was handling some of the Count Vordarian’s finances, as well as helped fill out the paperwork to try to access the finances that the Count wanted from the Professor.”

“You looked at everything?” Ivan squeaked. It was a lot of paperwork. It was quite a hefty, exhausting amount of paperwork.

“I did. Several other people helped. There have been a few people looking at the Count Vordarian’s books for a bit now.” Vorlemov took a breath, swept a mug of something off of the table and to his mouth. “The pissant was stealing from the Emperor, the Professor Vordarian, and the tenants with the rentals that he was supposed to be handling. This includes that house that he was supposed to be keeping an eye on- there are several transactions that look like the sales of furniture and art.” Another drink, swallowing loudly. “He did get a commission on those, it looks like he gave the rest to the Count, which is theft by them both from the Professor, since all of that is entailed property to _women of Ysilla Vordarian nee Vorbohn’s line of descent._ In the firstborn male line.”

“You’re—he stole entailed property.” Good grief. Ivan wondered if that was an executable offence yet. “Is that treason?”

“Good question.” Vorlemov sighed. “Not the entailment theft.”

“Ivan.” Byerly was treating him like an idiot, and again, he wished the man was more to his preference. He would make a great— “The man committed tax fraud against the Emperor. That’s treason.”

“But not treachery?”

“No, and it looks like the pissant doesn’t really know much more about anything.” Vorlemov drank more from his mug. “He handled the Count’s finances, before he became Count. He handled the Lady Vivienne’s, the deceased sister’s, finances as well. Given the timeline, I suspect that the Count Vidal did not have time to replace the man before he died.”

“You are looking at the Count Vidal as well?” Byerly was letting his curiosity get ahold of him, Ivan though. “For treachery? Now?”

“No, well, kind of.” The man set down his coffee. “I studied the Pretendership at one point, and one thing that came up in the research about it was the Count Vidal Vordarian had an odd sort of personal integrity. Nothing of the sort has ever come up in the research or the interviews about Vordrozda or any of the other various attempts at a coup.” He sighed. “I wanted to know if there was anyone or any faction who approached the Count Vidal at that time to make an alliance and was turned down.”

“You mean someone that a traitor did not think was honorable enough.” Ivan could not help himself, though the man had a point. “Cross-referencing names with Vordrozda and other particularly recalcitrant members of the Court of Counts?”

“Exactly.” Vorlemov pushed out two chairs, took a third. “There are a few names on these lists that I’ve found that keep popping up. Some of them even do business with the current Count Vordarian. Care to join me in talking about names, social lives, and politics?”

“We do have all night.” Byerly sat, even while Ivan froze for a moment before sitting. “Ivan, where are you posted right now?”

“My mother believes that I am posted to one of the desks at the Beta Colony desk.” A soft brush of his friend’s hand against his, and he opened his eyes, sat abruptly down. “We both know that she’s wrong, By. She also thinks that my living with her is good for my health and hers.”

“That, I disbelieve.” Byerly laughed. “Why are you living with her while you’re in Vorbarr Sultana again?”

“If I have my own flat,” Ivan started to explain. “Ma mere will expect me to keep it clean, host people in it only appropriately, go over to hers for dinner all the time. She might even start introducing me to some nice Vor-maidens. After all, I would have my own place.” He shook his head, explained the other option. “Staying in the unmarried barracks implies that I do not intend to marry or am the kind of lecher that rents a person’s time by the hour.” Ivan hated the logic that had plastered him over the wallpaper in his mother’s dining room when he had mentioned getting a small flat near work. “Living at home show that I have appropriate appreciation of ma mere.”

“Ivan,” He could not look at his friend’s pitying eyes, especially in front of a new person. “I have an apartment in the Caravanserai. You will be joining me there.” A mercurial grin. “If your mother asks, I need your support. Or tell her to talk to your cousin.”

“Which?”

“Which would be best?”

“I cannot wait until my mother meets the Professor.” Ivan was smiling at the thought. “Mother will have kittens.”

 

 


	7. seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> horticulturalists  
> cancellations  
> irritating auditors  
> unexpected visitors

“Professor Vordarian?” She had started keeping morning office hours at the University. Sofia had snagged an open office in the Prince Xav Public Policy building and had determined a new life goal. One way or another, there would be a building at a planet-wide university on Barrayar named after a woman. Whether if it was after her, another professor, a prominent public figure, it would happen. Why would women dream of an education if they were not reflected in the University itself?

“Yes?” The latest visitor was not a curious student, which was interesting enough to her, and Sofia minimized the tab of the syllabi that she was putting the final touches on before uploading to the university’s intranet. “That’s me. In the corner, that’s Orel.” Orel was learning the campus today. Lev was actually out and about, going through the halls checking the classrooms that she has currently assigned, as well as generally reviewing the campus again before there was another department level staff meeting in about two hours.

“Professora Montagu.” Short, curly red hair, upturned nose, and a hint of soil around the edges even in open academic robes. “I am in the botany and horticulture department.” She sat in the open, pushed out chair. “That’s really soft.”

“I’d hope it would be.” It had tiny crests over the entire seat and back. They had taken some of the ripped fabric from the master bedroom’s curtains and reupholstered the chair, adding stuffing from another chair that had been missing what had probably once been an intricately detailed back. _That man_ could not even _steal_ correctly. Thankfully the Municipal Guards had come by early on Sunday and taken images of everything so that they could start to clean, neaten, and rebuild. “We added extra fluff when we reupholstered it.”

“I had heard that you had a house. Emperor Dorca’s era.” The Professora starts. “I am teaching the Post Isolation/ Pre-Cetagandan course,” she smiled. “actually, it’s my specialty. No one else likes to teach it, too much exoticism, not enough desperation leading to valiant horticultural choices.”

Sofia _liked_ this woman. Sarcasm was something that she had not seen often enough so far on Barrayar, including when it gently made fun of one’s academic discipline’s foibles. The obsession with the Cetagandan Invasion in the History Department was another good example.

“I do. The garden is in terrible shape, Professora.” Sofia admitted. “Would you like to come visit and see?”  
“I would.” The other woman smiled. “And do call me Laine.”

“Then it is Sofia.” A friend, perhaps. She would have to see. From her chair, she could see Orel raising a surprised eyebrow. It had been awhile since she had offered her personal name to someone that she had only just met. “We could possibly arrange tours for the students, if you wanted.”

“That’s certainly a thought. What are you working on?”

“Class syllabus.” Simplistic answer. “Historical gender in the galaxy. Another, Politics between Planets, focusing on the policy, wars, trade, and peace between planets, empires, and other political presences. There will be at least two semesters of that being offered at undergraduate level, and I have had a few inquiries about graduate students.” She did have a more practical plan for that. Far too many professors received tenure without strong teaching skills. “A weekly seminar for the students who travelled with me, I’ve already a syllabus for that. I am missing two courses, I know I am.” She thought about it, and Orel mouthed an answer at her. “Oh! Beta as a soft Empire-and why it qualifies as such, even as a dubious democracy.” She had been asked to calm down in more than one course when she had argued that Beta Colony’s democracy had failed and continued to fail. It was not her fault that they had developed an oligarchy that used and abused their tenets of governmental faith. “Finally, a class on etiquette- specifically diplomatic etiquette on Escobar and on Beta Colony. I’ve been asked to keep my door open to any students who want to learn or practice Escobaran as well.”

“Full schedule, especially with making the syllabi from scratch.”

“Full schedule period.” Sofia let herself smile, though. “I am very happy that I packed the data chips that I kept my materials from my undergraduate and graduate work on. I even have my etiquette primer from school pulled out as well. I’ve been citing my professors and using some of their ideas to support some of what I’m creating. When I was at Silica University, Laine, I was often asked to take a class while another professor when on child-leave or took a research sabbatical. I could change syllabi, but not too deeply.”

 

 

“You found someone.” Sofia paused in the center of the foyer, used today’s singular cane to pivot around in a circle to take in the room. The fallen bannisters have been neatly stacked in a corner, the floors have been cleaned, and the broken furniture is not piecemeal throughout the floor. “Lev, Orel, did Boris and Andrei let you know that they had found someone to come in and clean?” For a moment, she wondered who had paid before remembering that on Monday they had been able to access the major accounts that they had used on Beta Colony, withdrawing a large sum before leaving with it carefully stowed away.

“One of the crews that ImpSec uses.” Andrei was wiping his hands as he came out of the doorway towards the kitchens. “We also have three contracting groups coming by to look at the hole in the roof to give us an estimate for the cost to patch it.”

“Oh?” Sofia was very quietly not panicking, thinking about the cost of the roof.  They now had some funds, but… “I suppose.”

“The cleaning crew has been gathering debris and starting disposal piles.” Andrei had been keeping a close eye on them, as had the ImpSec perimeter. So far, they had not caused any trouble. “They have found a few closets that we missed due to the destruction. Closets that were locked.”

“You think that there were things in the closets.” Sofia would not be surprised if there were things in the closets. The question would be if the contents of the closets were personal, familial, or precious. Possibly all three. “We can check the locks when our only visitors are ImpSec.” She would put her foot down on that. “I’ve finished my syllabi, and uploaded them, so that’s done. I was surprised to see that the doctor’s appointment had been removed from the day’s schedule.”

“It’s not good news.” Andrei’s face was a picture of distaste and disturbance. “The doctor’s office called and cancelled on all of us, told us not to make another appointment there.” Sofia could feel her knees going weak and pushed her weight to the cane.

“My lady!” She waved off the helping hands and made it to the steps up to the second floor, sitting on the fourth or fifth stair, pushing her face into her hands.

“Let me guess, no open appointments for new patients, even if they were advertising for new patients?” Sofia grumbled into her hands. “Or did this one manage to actually say that it was due to the family name?” It was the sixth set that had cancelled. “At this rate—I can’t even.” Sofia wanted to throw up with the tension. She needed a doctor’s appointment. They had managed to find a pharmacy that was ordering her previous medication, for the moment she was using a similar but weaker anti-inflammatory, her corsets, and daily hot baths. However, eventually, she would need a new prescription. Or Boris and Andrei could become ill.  Yearly physicals. “Put them on the _other list_.” They were the list that would never get business from their house again. It was a rapidly growing list and had included two tailors and a modiste. Thankfully, not one originally from the district. However, she had found several trunks in the attic, and they were waiting in the room she was sleeping in. “Andrei, did you try to schedule anywhere else?”

“No.” Andrei shook his head. “We don’t have enough time. Thursday is booked. I had assumed that tomorrow afternoon you wanted to finish stocking the kitchen?” Accurate. “Also, the roof people could do the repairs then.”

“You’re brilliant.” Lev allowed for his mentor. “I was worried about the weekend after Thursday and having that hole in security.” He admitted. It was not terribly large, and had not done too much damage, but it had done enough.

 

“Lord Auditor.”  _What the hell was that man doing here?_ Sofia cut her eyes to Orel, who had brought Auditor Vorlemov into the depths of the house. “Welcome.”

“Thank you for having me.” At least the man had retained his courtesies, even as his eyes traced the stone walls. “What is this place?”

“The back cellar.” Sofia looked at the man’s Auditorial Seal and winced. This was a family secret, and that man was here? “This house was my great great grandmother’s, Sofia Vorbohn. She created a profitable rental agency for housing here in Vorbarr Sultana. Eventually, she bought and refurbished this house. This is--” Sofia sighed. “This is the remains of the original safety bunker. She had it added to the house, and it is not on the original plans for the house, including the plans that are registered with the housing commission.”

“More than slightly illegal.”

“She was Emperor Dorca’s recognized mistress for twenty years, refused to marry to please anyone.” Sofia’s namesake. “Had three children with Emperor Dorca, one after they had married. She was a great grandmother when Yuri decided that she was a threat, as well as her children.” Andrei and Boris had retaught her the histories that her Father had taught her, taking her deep into the depths of this house. His own sister refused to set foot in this house, she thought it was cursed. “She had retreated here after the First Cetagandan War with a few trusted retainers and her younger daughter, the Princess Ksenia. That day, Yuri’s full sister Alys was visiting, as well as one of the Vordarian armsmen with my father. His parents, Yan and Sara, had wanted him to meet the Empress Dowager. Yan and Sara were with his twin brother Xavier travelling on District business, and Ysilla and the Count Victor were in the Stronghold.” Her Uncle had been in the Stronghold, terrorizing his Aunt Elisevet, her belly full of babe.

“The death squads came here.” The scoring on the hallway walls was from weaponry, perhaps.

“They did.” Sofia confirmed. “We have a special name for her within the Vordarian family.” She led him further through the hallway to what was once a bunker and was now a chapel—even if it still had a hidden escape route out of the house. “Lady Protector. She and two of her retainers held the death squads off long enough for the Princess Ksenia, my father, and a Vordarian armsman to escape.” She held it for a moment. “Lev’s great-uncle, actually. The man had to fire upon a Vorbarra armsman trying to knife the Princess Ksenia.”

“This room is—” The walls were covered in shimmering pieces of glass, cut into small facets. Faces with small braziers underneath, for each person who had died that night. A central shrine, a brazier, and a sword. “the memorial?”

“The records upstairs show that this was built by the Princess-Countess Ysilla as a memorial.” There was a casket made of stone, underneath the central shrine. “I vaguely remember it as a child. My father brought me down here to speak to me about family. We found it last night.”

“The sword is magnificent.” Fully a meter of steel, at least, with a long hilt. As tall as the Professor Vordarian at the chest.

“It is.” _She did not want him to ask more questions about this._ “You came about?”

“Ah.” He shook off thoughts like a duck slicking off water. “I wanted to know about your memories of the people that your father was socializing with, and people that he might not have liked.”

“I was young when he died.” Five, a year younger than the Emperor. “I do not know what I can tell you.”

“I was hoping to run some names past you and see if any memories are particularly strong.” She watched him fingering the Seal around his neck. “I was hoping to also ask your Household members?”

She considered the varied repercussions of the trauma that these discussions will bring, weighing that against duty. “Yes, afterwards. But—” eyes down, hand tightened on her cane. “be careful. We have not been able to line up a new therapist yet. Boris’ cousin was asked by my father to shoot down an air flitter containing the Emperor.” She pushed out the breath. “It was an illegal order that violated his oaths to Empire. However, Stefan was still executed for disobeying his liege.”

They got started.

 

“I love it.” Laine was a burbling fountain of joy, standing in her courtyard on what was left of the path. “This has not been touched- since Emperor Dorca’s day. Perhaps some trimming during Emperor Ezar’s early reign, but it looks like the planting is original.”

“I would say thank you, Laine, but I had absolutely nothing to do with it.” Sofia let herself lean onto Wednesday’s pair of canes, enjoying Professora Montagu’s enthusiasm. “I would welcome groups for field trips, but I really can’t spare the money to clean out the gardens to restore them to their original form.”

“I may have an answer to that.” Laine was grinning. “Practical horticulture project. Graduate students interested in the time period would be allowed to come and help with cleaning out the garden, perhaps repairing the fountain.”

“You mean—”

“I mean, I would give them a grade for historical accuracy of the restoration of each student’s sub plots. If you had pictures, that would be even better!” The woman was mad. Responsibly mad. “Sofia, so many of my students would look at this garden and not have a clue about where to start for a restoration job.”

“This could be a controlled start.” She understood it exactly. A useful educational tool, from the real world. “Anything else that you would want them to learn in this endeavor?”

“Customer service!” First idea. “Responsible composting. Sourcing replacements. Custom creations for older pieces of a restoration job.”

“Laine, I’m not supervising this.” Sofia had- “I have five classes, there are workmen on my roof currently fixing a hole, thank goodness, and I suspect that—” she stopped herself. She suspected that she would have a lot more work soon, as well as the lack of funding for fixing the problem. “How much will this cost on my end? Supplies?”

“Mostly. I believe we have a lot of it already on campus, or in collections that I can ask for cuttings from.”

“Let’s do it.” Sofia nodded. The students would need to have an ImpSec check run, but this was going to save her enough money that she might be willing to put up with an assassination attempt. If she did not get a hospital bill.

 

Gregor looked down at his desk, picked up the tea mug and had a sip. One last briefing after dinner, then an hour of free time to slip out of the Residence, back to the Residence, bath, bed. He’d had that booked all day, unless there was an emergency. Tomorrow was going to be a stressful enough day with the Count’s trial and an emergency quorum. If Vorhalas was not already with him, ramming this through by precedent would.

“So, there is definitively unrest in the Cetagandan Empire?” A question of his two more senior officers on that particular desk, and they were glancing at each other and not giving him a coherent report. “Let Us sum up the reports that We have read. The Cetagandan Emperor seems to not be interfering with disagreements within the younger _ghem_ , who are growing restless. This could lead to the younger _ghem_ being encouraged to expand the Cetagandan Empire.” The two idiots did not want to say it, did they?

Barrayar’s reaction needed to be carefully considered in this. He also, for that matter, needed to think about the other planets affected.

“We are also aware that Escobar is having an unusual amount of xenophobia in its Right Wing political debates. There is an unusual amount of activity by a group that has parallels to a previously banned group _Forasteros Negro_. It’s concerning the Escobaran chair, but given that the man who holds the position needs a dictionary to read the language, We are even more concerned.” It was a travesty.

“Thank you. Is there anything local that I need to know?” Nothing new had come up? “Thank you, and good night.”

“Sire?” His armsman bent. “Are we heading out of the Residence still?”

“I wanted to double check on everything for tomorrow. Before it happens.” His Grandfather, the Arch-Conservative, had laid the path and set the stones for this.

“Vorhartung Castle?” He nodded.

“Stop at Protector House. Quietly.”

 

“Lady Sofia?” It was so late that she was in her nightgown and a dressing coat, he realized. Even an Emperor should have called ahead.

“Sire!” Not for the first time he thought that full obeisance was dangerous, and he pushed forward to help her up before she fell over, thankful for the familiarity with canes. He shuffled them both over to the nearest bench, belatedly realizing that it was technically in front of a large shrine with a carved image above it.

“Where are we?” He actually thought that he recognized the place. “Did we ever come here as children?”

“This is the chapel that was built on top of the escape route that Princess Ksenia and my Father used to escape the death squad.” Sofia’s hands were harder than he would have thought, with calluses. Canes would make calluses. “This is the place where the Lady Protector, ah, Empress Dowager Sofia, died, giving them time to run.”

“Your father showed it to us both.” Gregor remembered it now. “You brought hair clippings and burnt them for everyone.” Even the household members who had died at the hands of the death squads were memorialized here. For the Lady Protector, she had brought one of her own hair ribbons and burned it. “He said that we had to honor and protect our family and our people.”

“I told your Auditor about the Princess-your-Grandmother, my Father, and the armsmen.” The Lady had straightened. “Three of the cook’s children were with them and managed to get to safety.”

“I am furious with your father for his choices.”

“So am I.” She had pulled her hands from his careful hold. “His choices have harmed my House, and I suspect my people.” She wrinkled her nose. “I do not have sufficient confirmation on that yet, but the University does not have any students registered from the Vordarian District, which I believe is enough of a start.” For a previously very rich district, yes.

“I am also reluctantly impressed.” Gregor let the admission into the silence of the chapel. He had already deployed the jammer before he had approached her. “He managed to convince my Grandfather—well.” He smiled. “I had wanted to ask if you wanted to come to Vorhartung Castle with me tonight, to pace out tomorrow’s trial and make sure that the seating is in place.”

 

“You do not trust the Castle staff to follow directions?” She was almost smiling.

He led them up to ground level, hand on an elbow. Her household was watching him closely, he noted, and at least one had the bulge of a semi-concealed stunner on their body.

“I do.” He paused, there in the emptied foyer, and looked at the walls. Some were damaged, some pristine. “Would you rather not accompany me?” He could assuage his nervousness by spending some time here. “Or, I could ask you questions about Escobaran politics.”

“Why?”

“It is one of your fields of study, your grandmother Sara de Paiz was initially on the Escobaran Embassy Staff before marrying your grandfather, and you’re fluent.” He ran through the list, parts of her informal and informal biography flashing through his mind. “My Escobaran desk isn’t fluent in Escobaran. I would replace him if it did not mean that I would no longer be able to keep an eye on him.” An eyebrow was raised.

“Let’s adjourn to my library. Orel and Lev can join us, as can your armsman and at least one pot of tea.” She allowed that, and he was pleasantly gratified. “What is your first question?”

“Who were the _Forasteros Negro?”_


	8. oaths

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> trials  
> the films of Ezar and Negri strike again  
> legislative slight of hand  
> oath making

“Vorhalas, do you know anything about what is going on today?” One of the other counts was shouting, and the Count tried to push through the urge to rub at the bridge of his nose. The summonses had gone out at dinner time the night before- that there was to be an emergency quorum of the Court of Counts in the morning.

He looked over at his niece, Charlotte, sitting over in the watching gallery. There were a few familiar faces up there, one with reddish hair. He recognized the small group of five, four men in House Uniform, one woman in a black cloak with blond hair carefully pinned up. By the uniform of the men around her, the Lady Sofia Vordarian, Professor.

The Count was more amazed that there were any members of the public in the gallery on this day than not- summonses were not scheduled for emergency quorums, and they were often completed with an empty gallery. That gallery had a few members of the different embassies in it as well- had someone informed the embassies that something would be happening today? Perhaps the Emperor?

 

“Professor?” Deric Halas had made his way over and was trying to squish between her household to get to her attention. “Why are you here?”

She considered honesty. She considered a lie.

“I received a summons.” It was fully honest.

“I see.” She could see the cogs turning in the man’s mind, and Sofia let herself be impressed as the Lord Guardian of the Circle hammered the beats for silence upon the floor and the Emperor entered and the Castle locked into place. No one in, no one out until the session was complete. All were standing, and the graduate student had offered her an arm to balance on as she stood.

Her Emperor’s eyes were tracing the room, seeing the places empty. She was doing the same; empty spaces, filled ones, and the speed of people scurrying to their seats as the Emperor proceeded to his stool, turned to the room.

Halas moved her hand to Orel’s elbow and returned to where he had been sitting as quietly as possible, she noticed as his movement pressed against the heavy weight of the skirts and she was able to focus on the formalities that the Lord Guardian was reviewing as the Quorum began. The Emperor sat, everyone save the Lord Guardian followed. A tap of the cavalry lance upon the floor, and then-

“The Quorum is called to order by the will of Gregor, first of his Name, Emperor of Barrayar, Sergyar, and Komarr, in the matter of treason.” A murmur ran through the room. “Count Vincent Vordarian has three charges of treason against him.”

There was a man, sitting at a table near the Emperor, with piles of flimsies. “Would the Imperial Prosecutor please present the case.”

Her father’s insurrection had not merited a trial. Sofia had known that growing up- a small scale civil war was not exactly something that ended in a trial, but rather in an impromptu beheading. Would that be worse or better than watching her uncle starve to death under the charges that the Prosecutor was verbalizing the evidence for and presenting the case to the Quorum?

The prosecutor continued the review of the charges, moving into inappropriate appropriation of funds and Sofia realized that one of the other observers was the Lord Auditor, Vorlemov, with a notepad and a stylus, eyes also following the inside of the Court of Counts. Occasionally his stylus took notes on the latest ruin of her house.

Apparently, her uncle had been changing the numbers of his household, the district, and his holdings as well as attempting to access holdings that weren’t his to access- the Dowager-Empress’ entailment. Those entailments. Parts of the money that the pissant had stolen had gone to this man? Possibly for longer than she had been alive? She had long ago guessed at the-Count-her-Uncle’s attempts at theft from her dowry and the living expenses on Beta Colony, but this? This was money that could have gone to support his own future children and tried to steal it.

Sofia’s stomach felt hollow with it. How much damage had the man done? Why had the-Count-her-Uncle not been satisfied with what he had, with one of the wealthiest districts on the planet?

“There is sworn evidence that the Count Vincent Vordarian did not swear four of his brother’s armsmen to his service,” the Imperial Prosecutor continued, and Sofia squeezed at Oren’s elbow, took Lev’s hand. What her Uncle had done to the family’s honor would be spoken, his lies become the wind. “however, he claimed, with those four, a total of some thirty armsmen.” The Imperial Prosecutor spoke. “Evading notice by changing the names reported yearly, he violated Vorloupoulous’ Law.” A pause. “He also violated the duty of a Count to their armsmen by misreporting service and taking financial advantage of those armsmen by appropriating their funds as twenty-year-men, from the Imperial Service.”

Her uncle was present for this, kept in an enclosed barrier. He could hear the remarks of others, but could not be heard, touched or interfered with. He seemed infuriated, Sofia noted, a purpling hue on his cheeks, but she could not bring herself to care. The-Count-her-Uncle had taken Andrei’ and Boris’ pensions, pocketing them. Stealing money from them, food from the mouths of their families—which was where that pension money was designated to go, to their kin, to nieces and nephews.

The-Count-her-Uncle stole food from the mouths of the families of the men sworn to his family. If the Count-her-Uncle had ever had honor, this act had nullified it.

Sofia would have rubbed at the handle of her cane and settled for a nervous thumb over the nap of the fabric of Orel’s Uniform sleeve.

“This is not, however, the only treason against the Empire.” The Emperor spoke. The-Emperor-Gregor, first of his name, of the House of Vorbarra. The man who had sat with her last night in the House that her great-great-grandmother had built, nervous.

The beard accentuated a strong jaw, the Uniform broadened wide shoulders.

“The Imperial Prosecutor’s Office has found evidence that the man addressed as Count Vincent Vordarian interfered with the word and will of his predecessor, the lawful Count Vidal Vordarian.” The Prosecutor finished. “Interfering with Count’s Choice is treason.”

Her uncle was an ugly shade of purple now, pulling at his collar as the Imperial Prosecutor played the film from ImpSec.

Sofia had forgotten how much of a presence her father had had, the strength of his personality. In full House Uniform of reds and golds, kneeling next to a bed.

Emperor Ezar, the last year of his life.

She knew this video had existed, that it, and a will existed and had been interfered with, but to see her father, projected above the floor of Vorhartung Castle during a Quorum, as her Uncle was publicly tried for treason.

“Disinheriting your brother is nasty business.” The Emperor Ezar, who had married the sister of her great grandmother Ysilla, seemed ancient, dying in that bed as medicine helped him hold on. He would have known best the results of disinheritance.

“Sire, I have already spent far too much money buying my brother free of debt.” Her father’s voice was the deep comfort she remembered, though it was cut with tension and anger. “It terrifies me what he would do to my district if he were to take the Countship.” A deep breath, in and out, and she realized that her father’s methods of self-control are alike in this. “Sire, I have already written my will. It is my Choice that Lord Vincent Vordarian, the second born child of my parents Yan and Sara de Paiz Vordarian will never hold the Countship.”

“So witnessed.” The Emperor echoed, and at least one other person in the film does as well—the man was wearing an Eye of Horus. “Then who will be your heir?”

“My Choice is my only child.” There are no caveats, Sofia realized, as the Emperor-who-was, Ezar, first of his name, echoes the choice in the film, as does the man- that, plus the filming, plus the written will was legally enough. Then, her father smiled. Not the silly grin she remembered him having when he would play with her in the courtyard at Vordarian House here in Vorbarr Sultana, or the violently angry smile that looked like murder when he was speaking to her mother. One full of a proud triumph. “Thank you, Sire.”

Sofia watched the Counts whisper and move as they began to run through family trees.

“For what?” The Emperor Ezar stared back at him, standing meters above the floor of Vorhartung Castle in the film. “Your situation has given Us a place to give an example. You have confirmed your only child as your Heir. We have ratified that your only child is your Heir.” Emperor Ezar’s words rang through the hall. “Your Heir is valid, and will rule as Count in your place, unless you make another choice before they are fully grown.” The words were ringing like bells, and she felt them through her heart. _Duty-to-District, Duty-to-Family, Duty-to-Empire, Duty-to-Emperor, Duty-to-Vassals, Duty-to-Household, Duty-to-District,_ and it stopped, held, and then started again. _Count._ “Who will serve as the child’s guidance?”

“Two of my Armsmen- Boris Iskandar, Andrei Pavlovich.” Her two stalwarts, the men who had raised her as if she was their daughter as well as their liege did not twitch. “They do not know that I have made my choice yet, just that they are accompanying my child now instead of my former wife.”

“Sensible men?”

“Quite. Both are from loyal families within the district, both were twenty-year men.” Her father’s words, again. “I will be adding two younger Armsmen when I find two appropriate lads. If I have a son—”

“If you have a son,” The Emperor Ezar spoke, raspy voice. “You will need to go through this process all over again.” A pause. “I may not be so forgiving. If you have a son, raise both your children as heirs. See whom would make your District and Our Empire stronger, and then reconsider.”

The Prosecutor cut off the film, and the Lord Guardian rang the staff hard against the floor.

“The Lord Vincent Vordarian took the Countship against the Choice of his brother, paying to cover up his brother’s Choice in the aftermath of his death, and then promptly moved to take his brother’s child’s inheritance.”

“You mean his niece’s.” One voice spoke.

“Ratified by the Emperor Ezar, witnessed. The Choice is legally valid.” That was Count Vorhalas, shouting. “Hold, listen.”

“Theft of inheritance is treason against the Empire.” The Imperial Prosecutor spoke. “We have evidence of tax fraud, violations of Vorloupoulous’ Law, misallocation and misappropriations of funds, and finally, interference with Count’s Choice and an Imperially-recognized line of Succession. Is this treason?”

There are two precedents here, it was explained to her. Legally, it could be handled in two ways. First would be for the Emperor to assume absolute rule and make an immediate judgement. If this were to be tried as it was in truth rather than the façade that they were using to try to tease out other, smarter traitors, it would be for summary judgement. The second would be for the Quorum of the Court of Counts to vote on the charges, and then for judgement to be given according to guilt. The Prosecutor’s job, in this case, was to provide the evidence for the charges. For these specific set of charges, the accused was not permitted to speak in their own defense-given that the man had stolen the title that would have allowed him to speak freely on the floor of the Court of Counts.

The Quorum, the minimum number of Counts necessary to vote, was ten, and had been reached through the emergency summons while the majority of the Counts were In-District on the Court’s break.

“Sire, do you hold for Imperial Judgement, or would you give the vote to the Quorum?” The Lord Guardian of the Circle pivoted again.

“We would have the Quorum vote on the imposter to the post of Count.” There were ways that Sofia had learned in her schooling, for a constitutional monarch or an Emperor to indirectly influence politics without giving an order. Those words.

“Role-call, For the charge of tax fraud,” As the names of the Counts in Attendance are read, and answered, Sofia’s eyes stayed locked on her uncle, who seemed to be shouting within his box. They move onwards “All are in favor, Guilty. For the charge of interference with Succession--” She listened more carefully this time. The last charge that will be listed will be treason. The traditional punishment was to be staked out and starved in the Great Square. For that to be successfully managed would be interesting, but the man had not had anything interesting to say, and from the look of her uncle, his death by starvation might be shortened by a myocardial infarction. “For the charge of treason, all are in agreement, Guilty. The punishment?”

“The Lord Vincent Vordarian is hereby stripped of all of the honor of Vor. He will be exposed in the Great Square.” Her Emperor was on his feet, and she noticed that the ImpSec guards who had had her Uncle before have him again, moving him inside his transparisteel prison. The Emperor stopped, and that is the beginning of the cue that they had reviewed last night. Andrei and Boris had a long, locked case.

“Months ago, discrepancies were noted by the Betan Colony Embassy in how the Lady Sofia Vordarian’s, Professor Vordarian’s, household was being managed. Money that should have been flowing in to the accounts were not, and complaints had been registered and then swept away when staff asked for more information from home.” Gregor had a booming voice, and could have been a professor, she thought. This story was also partially, though not wholly true. “Then the Professor Vordarian registered a complaint with the Embassy that her accounts were being interfered with. This time, it led to an investigation.” The Emperor’s voice managed to sound reasonable. “That investigation continues to be ongoing as many, many District funds under the care of Lord Vincent Vordarian are missing. It also encouraged the investigation to look into the line of succession for House Vordarian.”

Her household was standing around her, helping her up. She knew that she looked as if she was carrying herself, but they were providing the support that her cane usually did. When had they removed the cloak? It was time, time to take the duty that had shaped her and grow with it, grow further forward.

 

“Sofia Ysilla Vordarian, only child of the Count Vidal Vordarian, will you make oath with me, as the Count of Vordarian District? Will you put your hands between my own, and swear fealty to the Imperium and the Emperor?”

“I shall.”

 Deric Halas watched from his seat in the observation booth at the beginnings of the oath, with the use of more traditional words than had been used since the Time of Isolation had ended. One of the Professor’s household had a long case, which the other was opening, giving items to the younger two. One item each, then.

Three items total, and has the man takes them out of the case, Deric knows in his bones what has been chosen for this oath.

There are many oaths, old oaths that are no longer used whether they tied too tightly or too loosely or tied the wrong things. This oath would tie a Count to their district and to their Emperor- and its use must have been communicated with the Emperor and the guards before hand because that is a sword. Not the cavalry sabers of the Vor Counts, but something more raw.

 Sheathed, it looks like it would stand to the ribcage of the woman about to make an oath, with a hilt made for two hands and a wide blade. Sheathed in leather to match the Professor’s black leather boots, the hilt is utilitarian and non-decorative, a stark difference to a tunic made with maroon, decorated with gold embroidery. Tailored, it was worn over black leggings and boots with a high collar, tails past her knees, and close wrist-length sleeves. A feminized version of the Vordarian House Livery, acknowledging both her new status and her sex. This oath would make history, with its alignment to the form of conservatism while empowering progressives.  

“I lay at the feet of my Emperor wheat, to show that the Count of Vordarian District shall always feed their people and their Emperor.” The blond woman knelt, holding the bowl of wheat groats above her. The Emperor took them, held the bowl, spoke.

“We acknowledge that we shall ask no more of our people than what they can give without harming themselves.” He passed the bowl to an armsman.

Deric watched the Professor rise, shaky, to her feet, and turn from the empty hands of Orel to the filled hands of Andrei, a bowl filled.

She completed the steps, knelt fully.

“I lay at the feet of my Emperor stone, to show that the Count of Vordarian District shall always shelter their people and their Emperor.” The bowl was filled with pebbles of varying sizes. Again, the Emperor held the bowl, spoke.

“We acknowledge that we shall ask for the shelter of our Districts when we need it, and offer our people shelter when they need it.” The Emperor did not bend, and Deric watched the woman he knew walked with a cane stand, walking so stiffly he winced, over to the third man holding an item. The sword. Lev, he remembered. He had met all of them at the meetings so far this week. _What would next week look like?_ The thought darted away as quickly as it appeared.

 

Holding the sheathed sword in two hands, Sofia Ysilla Vordarian knelt, in the center of the floor of the Court of Counts, in Vorhartung Castle.

“I lay at the feet of my Emperor the sword of my family, a sword that has protected my people and my House against danger. I offer it and it’s service to my Emperor, my Empire, my people, and my District to protect them against danger.” The hilt was then held between her hands, and sheathed blade taller than she was kneeling. The Emperor put his hands around her hands, over the hilt of the sword.

“We take into our service, Sofia Ysilla Vordarian, child of Vidal Vordarian, as Count Vordarian.  Do you swear to uphold the duties of the Count Vordarian?”

“I, Sofia Ysilla Vordarian, so swear.” The words rung like a bell, a warning.

The Emperor, Gregor, First of His Name, bent slightly to clasp his hands around the elbows of Count Vordarian, and lifted as he stood for them both, turning toward the rest of the Court room.

 

“May your district have the bounties of a full harvest, the warmth of an impervious roof, and the safety of a Count who knows when to use a sword and when to put their sword down.”


	9. expositions and pantry appropriations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Counts Vorkosigan, Vorbarra, and Vordarian
> 
> An Invitation to Dinner turns into being Invited for Dinner, along with many, many students
> 
> Vorpoppingham what?
> 
> Vordarian House
> 
> Pantry Appropriations and More Invited Guests

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for your forbearance. This chapter took longer than expected to write due to a constellation of issues. I have accepted a   
> new temporary teaching job for the next two months, and the preparation for that has discombobulated my general schedule. This chapter  
> asks some new questions and answers some others.

Lev and Orel left her in the softly padded chair that the Count Vorbarra had indicated was acceptable for her to sit in as they returned to the observation gallery to collect coats, canes, and sundry other items. There was a small pouch somewhere in the belongings with a small vial.

The Count Vorbarra laid the sword across her lap. “You took it off the wall.” Boris had the case for the sword. “It’s still gorgeous.”

“I’m more amazed that you managed to lift it, my Lady.” Andrei lifted the sword, placed her coat over her lap, and placed the sword back down, tucking her coat around her lap. “Hold out your wrists.”

Sofia could feel the hints of a blush as her two guardians fussed, checking her carefully over. She held the pain reaction as someone came in- a tall man with silvering hair in a brown House uniform with silver insignia, including military service medals. Komarr, Escobar, Cetaganda, Yuri.

“Sire.”

“Uncle Aral.” Ah, informal. That was the thing that she was forgetting. “Please come here.” Sofia attempted to straighten, hold her shoulders erect but realized that the only thing keeping herself from slumping over was the steel boning within the corset enforcing her straight back. “May I introduce Count Vordarian.” Oh, she can already see the confused look. “Count Vordarian, our mutual Cousin, Aral Vorkosigan, Count Vorkosigan.”

She does not offer a hand. They both hurt, the combination of stress and the current issues with her medications. However,

“Please, call me Sofia.” She offers that, and a smile.

“Cousin Sofia.” He was striking, she knew that. Somewhat of a similar cast of features to her father, but then, they had shared blood. “Please, call me Aral, then.”

“Cousin Aral.” Orel and Lev were back, arms filled with coats. Orel brought her canes, propping them next to her chair. “Thank you.”

“Have you done the joint tests for Andrei yet?” Lev had pulled out his disapproving voice, with a strong lack of regard for the company that they were in.

“Yes.” Sofia mustered up a smile.

“Did you actually give him responses?” That would be a question that he would ask, wouldn’t it? And he knew that she had—

“No. I’m sorry Lev.”

Lev gave Andrei the small pouch, and the elder man took out a vial and a hypodermic set. “Run through the exercises with me again, while Andrei gets the medications ready.” Sofia obliged, wincing, allowing the squeals at the movement of certain joints and the palpitation of others. She even leaned forward and allowed Lev to lift and check her hips, shoulder blades, lumbar, and sacral spine for swelling. He gently sat her down, aligning her spine in the seat and moving a cushion to better support her. At some point, the sword would have ended up on the floor. “You are definitely heading into a major flare.” Lev verbalized. “Andrei, is it ready?”

“This is going to hurt.” Needle-inserted analgesic pain killers usually did. “My Lady?”

“Lev, it’s going to hurt anyway, and we are doing this in front of strangers.”

“I have not heard you snap like that at me,” Lev deftly lifted an arm and found a vein at the knuckles. “in quite a while, little-lady-lass.”

Always, always they called her on it even as he smiled, disposed of the needle, and gently squeezed her hands before pulling out a pair of gloves and bundling her hands into them. Lev released the hands back to her lap with the softest of squeezes-working on the thin line between the pain of touching irritated joints and a need to provide and be supported by physical touch. “Besides, little-lady-lass,” that particular nickname dated to her childhood. “I remember the Count Vorbarra begging Orel and I for horsey-back rides.” Lev finished putting away the vial inside the pouch, hiding the pouch away in an inside pocket. “That makes him family.”

 _To you,_ was implicit. He gave the two near strangers a warning look and near growl. He was just over ten years older than his lady. His memory of the Pretendership and their exile to Beta Colony was far more detailed than her memory was. The Count Vorkosigan could have stepped in, and had not.

“It’s not _transmissible_.” The man who had been the Regent, the Emperor, they should both know what this was. Sofia gave them a medical name. “The doctors on Beta Colony said that it is recessive, that most cases are found on Escobar.” Lev could understand why his Lady told them this much. “Essentially, my connective tissue doesn’t always work correctly.” Sofia does not go into detail, and Lev knew that she rarely did. If she explained that much, she preferred that someone do the research on their own- perhaps to mask the depths of the effects upon her life, or to maintain a veil of privacy that relying on canes did not. “I had onset at puberty. Sometimes it flares badly enough that I cannot walk at all.” The hoverchair was in the belongings that had been packed on the long-transport.

“I see.” The man that the Count Vidal had actively campaigned to usurp had a son with his own disabilities. “You use canes?”

“On a daily basis.” His lady Sofia gestured to hers, that had been carefully concealed within the Court of Counts. Today, she had said this morning, was not going to be a day to display any kind of outstanding difference to the Counts.

 

“Interesting choice of oaths.” Count Vorkosigan changed the subject. She would need to work consistently on calling him Aral, as he had asked. “I do not think that anyone has used those in generations, Gregor.”

“Do you want to know why?” Gregor-her-cousin leaned against the desk in the little room, even as Leve kept his fingers on her pulse, kneeling next to her. “My grandfather and Count’s Choice shoved the Lady Sofia into place as Count Vordarian.” His eyes met hers and held them for a moment. “However, Vordarian District has been in and out of open defiance of the Imperium since Dorca ruled.” Gregor smiled, and she could see why some girls in her courses signed over him. “The old oaths tie Vordarian District tightly to the Imperium, and the Imperium to Vordarian District. To break them would take purposeful maltreatment on behalf of either party.” Gregor paused. “It does not hurt that we plan to announce that the first-born heirs of Vorbarra and Vordarian will be fostered together.”

“A fosterage.” Fostering had fallen out of favor with the growth of the Imperial Service Academies and the prole being welcomes into military ranks. The theory was that the children of two formerly feuding houses would be raised together, ensuring amity, or at the least, peace. The reality was often a mutual cessation of violence as the children stood hostage to good behavior on the part of the family that did not hold the children.

“The details will sound as if House Vordarian is admitting culpability as a House.” Sofia listened to Gregor-her-cousin explain, and was glad he used those words instead of her. “The actual plan is that from ages 7 through 14, the first two born of both houses will spend roughly equivalent amounts of time with each household. The head of each household will have the duty to train both to the children’s’ full duties, with the expectations that the children will also attend school in Vorbarr Sultana. State trips to Komarr and Sergyar will be discussed as they come up.”

“You will be implying that there will be an eventual marriage alliance.” The Count Vorkosigan stated, and Lev’s hands shook, almost. She had not had time to share all the details of careful negotiations with Lev, with Orel. With Andrei and Boris, before now. Before this moment.

“There was supposed to be.” Gregor leaned. “One of House Vordarian’s alliances with House Vorbarra, following Yuri’s Massacre, to bring them fully into the fold was the promise of reuniting bloodlines. Prince Xav voluntarily renounced his claim to the throne, but the Princess-Countess Ysilla did not. Instead she wrangled out a different deal. House Vordarian would retain an independent claim to the throne that they would not use, so long as House Vorbarra offered a daughter.”

“Then Emperor Ezar forcibly separated the Princess Kareen and Prince Serg.” Aral realized.

“It followed the lack of daughter from Emperor Ezar and Princess-Consort Ksenia.” Her great grand-aunt had never been mentally healthy enough, after the Massacre, to wholly fulfil the duties of the Empress. It had come to a head early after their marriage, and had eventually prevented the body-birth of another child after Prince Serg. Gregor’s next words were the ones that she had conveyed to him, about her father’s irritation, and its eventual escalation. The stories that Boris and Andrei had witnessed, the rebuff of her aunt for Prince Serg by the Emperor, it had all led to her father’s growing discontent with what he saw as another branch of the family being promoted above theirs. Discontent that had led to treason. “This will show that the two Houses stand together again.”

“It’s not that the original promise,” Sofia used a soft voice. “was not meant to continue onwards until someone appropriate could be found. In fact, something that I think will be overlooked is that ‘House Vorbarra _will offer_ a daughter.” She smiled. “It said nothing about House Vordarian _accepting_ said daughter. The oath is about the form, the fact that after Yuri’s Massacre House Vordarian had lost an entire generation, that neither Yuri nor Ezar acknowledged what House Vordarian had offered to Yuri during the First Cetagandan War, what had been received by Yuri from House Vordarian.” Three granaries to start with, that they had not stopped any liege-man who had wished to leave for the Resistance, the spaceport, access to the tunnels in the Buryan Mountains. “My great-grandfather signed a treaty with the Cetagandans.” She shoved the metaphorical blade in her heart, acknowledging that dishonor. “Non-interference by the Count’s forces.” The wording had been explained to her at the age of four, she had re-read the details in her great-grandmother’s journals. “Just non-interference. The Princess-Countess offered Yuri access to the storage caverns, secondary access to the spaceport.”

It had been a loophole that had been exploited.

There had been a spy in that schoolhouse basement. Non-interference on both sides by the Count, nothing about the Princess-Countess, nothing about his Heir, who had met the woman who would become his wife when she had helped Prince Xav smuggle weaponry past the Cetagandan Customs Officers, in the port that they had taken from them and had then manned.

“They never expected gratitude.” She finished. “But my lord Father, he wanted _something_.” The admission hurt.

“This planned fosterage should pacify the Counts that Vordarian House is not getting away with treason again.” Gregory had talked that out with her, in the tiny shrine in what had become the crypts of Protector House. “While giving us a very strong excuse to keep a very close eye on Vordarian District.”

“An excuse for the ImpSec detail?” The Count Vorkosigan asked.

“Exactly,” Gregor-her-cousin agreed. “an excuse for the Lord Auditor Vorlemov to follow Count Vordarian to her district, for a large number of communications to go back and forth—” Her cousin continued to expound upon his reasoning. So much of this was his idea, renewing the fosterage in exchange for the marriage alliance- it fulfilled the terms without forcing a marriage.

She was not quite sure his reasoning on that, but perhaps with time and familiarity, she might understand. Her-cousin-the-Emperor had asked for bi-weekly comm calls the night before, something else that made some sense for planning, but seemed a bit excessive. Sofia would have to wait and see. The old oaths had been her idea- the original oaths that the Buryan Counts had sworn to the Vorbarras, changing from the warlords who held the Buryan Mountains and the ocean beneath to Counts of the Barrayaran Imperium. Using the oldest of oaths to renew loyalties made sense. It would also be an Ultra-Conservative reminder to those who played at Conservatism without remembering the depths of the loyalties and expectations of those who had held to those oaths.

An excellent pre-emptive kick in the teeth to those who would think of her weak.

Count Vorkosigan- Aral, and the-Count-her-cousin-Gregor continued to speak about the legal ramifications. Nothing yet about calling her a Countess, thank goodness.

 

 

 

“My Lady,” Lev was there, at her side, shaking her arm. She must have drifted as the medication took effect. “The Count Vorkosigan offered to host you for dinner tonight.”

“Ducklings.” Sofia blinked, “We have the Ducklings tonight.”

“Ducklings, Cousin?” Gregor asked, and she tried to process through the fog.

“What my Lady meant,” Orel stepped in with an answer. “is that we are hosting the students from Silica University on Beta Colony at the House tonight.” It had been planned since they had been in transit and had been one of the stronger reasons to clean out Protector House.

“I see.” The Count perhaps understand. Perhaps he did not.

Sofia tried to take stock of their pantry. This might stretch what they had to offer, but it could be doable.

“Would you and the Countess Vorkosigan like to join us?” She met her households’ eyes, holding each briefly. It would stretch their pantry. It would stretch the time that they had to act this afternoon.

It would start to mend a decades’ long rift in a situation that had them on relatively neutral ground with many, many neutral chaperones.  “The students would be quite pleased to meet you.”

“How many students are planning on attending?” That was a good, good question. The difference between those who had informed them that they would come and those who would actually show up were different, and had the factor of those who were planning and were unable to suddenly or had something suddenly come up or those who weren’t planning on coming, and suddenly decided that food and friends was their preference.

“Fifteen of my students have responded, a few graduate students from the university have responded, as has a professor in the Botany and Horticulture Department.” Sofia paused, considered again. “This will be an alcohol-free gathering, not because the students are too young, but because giving that many university students access to alcohol in my home during a seminar dinner before they start their classes next week makes my brain and my ethics hurt.”

“And your wallet.” Lev’s mutter was not soft, regardless of whether or not he would be heard. “I heard about some of the parties the interchangeable Emmas have been invited to.”

“Eavesdropping?” She was not particularly surprised by any of that information, including that he had taken that nickname for the lasses who flocked together so similarly.

“Yes, we shall come for dinner.” She let herself smile.

 

 

 

“Did anyone bother to tell Vorpoppingham about the possible events today?”  The thought came as she was helped out of the flitter and into the front courtyard, leaning heavily on her canes as she progressed towards the house. “Did anyone warn that little puffed up prat about the fact that things would be changing with security?”

“No, Count.” It was Agent Artes, again. Familiar face. “I had to be recalled immediately from my off shift to replace him- he hit his head when the news hit the ImpSec grapevine.” The man was lounged within the front shadow of the house, and the flitter pulled away. “Welcome home.”

“Thank you.” She took the steps as fast as she could. There was planning to be had, and somewhere there was a very small, very sensible lunch to be eaten. “Artes, I have a feeling that we are going to need to review what the detail is going to need to change into.” She considered the next station as she headed through the foyer and towards the kitchens. “The needs of this household are going to change drastically with the needs of the District pressing down.” She made it to the kitchen and went to the cold box first, her household trailing through the house behind her.

Fruit, a knife, a cutting board- she needed to rinse the fruit. That was easy enough to do as the rest of the household and that liaison populated the kitchen. Rinse the fruit, cut it into pieces. A measurable task with a goal and an easy reason. Food.

Eat her damn apple.

“Sofi-lass.” Lev wrapped an arm around her, and Orel from the other side, squeezed so slightly. “It’s something that can be done.”

She let the apple slice fall, and grabbed at the supportive hands, holding strong.

Let her family support her as she considered her options. “It’s going to be a brutal next few weeks, and I do not know what it will look like on the other side.” Sofia allowed the admittance out. “I am teaching five courses, and we will be going to the district as much as possible. I want to spend at least one week of the fall break out there, and I will have a week where I teach from the district.” She thought on it, carefully. “We are going to need transportation. One for here in Vorbarr Sultana, at least one for the District. Perhaps something to make the trip back and forth to the District.” She hoped that— “Maybe my Uncle has something.”

“The estate?” Lev withdrew the arm, Orel kept his in place. “We were planning on—”

“Not tomorrow, this afternoon.” The plan had been to let them have the afternoon, if there were any hold outs, and take the estate house with the early morning, taking advantage of tired watchmen, if any watch was set at all. “Before the evening news cycle and this morning’s court session breaks.”

“You are worried about the media.” Orel understood her line of worry, then. “The estate House?”

“It’s very well known, easy to find. This house, yes, we have had and will have people in and out of it, but not to the same degree.” Sofia let the words, the strategy start to flow. “Protector House was built without many external identifying markers for many reasons, and that’s not a bad thing.”

“You want to permanently withdraw to this house, here in the city.” Lev, as always, was too close to the truth with his words. She was not quite sure, yet. Her memories of the ancestral Vordarian estate within the capital city of Barrayar was of a very large estate, with very large stairs, accessibility issues, and the scene of multiple loud arguments between her parents and her father and her uncle. She had positive memories of Protector House, instead of being pulled out of the nursery and practically shoved onto a galactic transport.

“We shall see.” It was a thought. Keep the official residence, sell it. She wondered if they even paid taxes on the thing? “Goals if we take the house this afternoon are to clear the premises. See if any staff is on site, reset the access codes.”

“Review the contents of the house?” Andrei asked, leaning on to the butcher block of the center counter. “See if anything is missing?”

“Yes, that makes sense. I have—” She paused, considered. “Papa taught me the codes that his grandfather taught him, the Count Victor.” She looked around the room. Aside from Agent Artes, everyone was honor-bound to her family. He was honor-bound to the Emperor. That would have to do. “There is a way for me to lock down the familial accounts completely.” She had not understood what he was teaching her about when she had been a child and it had been taught to her, but as an adult, the comprehension had grown. “I need to be in the house to do it.” She hoped that if there was anything left, it would freeze what was left of the accounts. From what the Lord Auditor had told her, it might not be very much left at all.

 

 

“My Lord Count?” It remained a very silly title when it was applied to her. “The House is clear.” The House was supposed to be statuesque, a solid piece of Time-of-Isolation architecture.

“Mothballed, as he was heading on vacation.” Agent Garrett reminded her. “Before we intercepted him. We were able to search the house itself.”

“My Lady?” Boris offered her a hand. Under some of the oldest laws, this house was considered Vordarian District inside Vorbarr Sultana, an embassy of what had once been Burya before the Bloody Centuries.

She took the hand, walked through the doors and into the foyer. Blinked, pivoted, staring.   
“This is ghastly.” Rococo? Florid? Gaudy? “How much did my Uncle spend on gilt?” Gilt, she hoped, not paint. Gilded items could be sold for far more money.

“I was wondering where the portrait of Count Victor and the Princess-Countess had gone?” They had been painted together, her seated and he standing, a hand on her shoulder. She had been wearing the raiment of an Imperial Princess, and he in the House Uniform of the Count. It had been painted before the Cetagandans invaded, while Dorca still lived, and had been considered a family treasure as well as a historical treasure.

“If he’s sold it, I may ask for the Count’s privilege to kill him.” It had not, thankfully, sat in front of anything terribly important. Sofia had learned that some families hid their safes behind family portraits. “Boris, is my father’s study intact?”

She watched him touch his earpiece- Andrei must be upstairs. With Lev and Orel finishing the last of preparations for the evening. Her matching hairpiece was turned on, but the link into the audio was not turned on-it could be in an emergency, but they preferred to use it to record everything.

“According to Andrei, yes. We have not cleared the Heir’s study, however.”

“Clear that, next.” It had been kept close to the chest. “If he has trouble accessing it without me, I will come upstairs and input the codes personally.” Actually, she believed that it was a dual fingerprint and iris scan, however, that would be enough of a layer of deceit for ImpSec. They did not need to have it verbalized that the key code security system that her father had paid so much money for was actually a fingerprint and iris scanner, well disguised.

 

“We have more food.” She would have felt guilty for re-appropriating everything in the deep cold box at Vordarian House, but Sofia could not bring herself to care. “Lev, Andrei and Boris are being helped by the ImpSec men on duty to bring in the contents of my Uncle’s pantry.” She smirked at the man. “More than enough for the next month. Some of which is probably resell-able.”

“Re-sellable?” Orel was already digging into one of the totes that she had brought with her. “What did the man have a taste for?”

Sofia named several types of very expensive fish, caviar, imported meat from off planet. “Good grief.” Lev was wincing. “How do we even sell that?”

More totes were brought in. Not much in the way of anything fresh, but what had been brought could possibly last five people several months with fresh vegetables and fruit for variety. “Perhaps Professor Montague or Count Vorkosigan will have ideas?” Sofia posited.

“Speaking of whom, Count Vorkosigan comm’ed.” Orel had spoken with the man, even when he had attempted to force the issue to be sent straight through to his Lady. Unless they had the private communicator codes, no one would get through or be put forward in certain situations. Today certainly counted. “Their son, the Lord Miles Vorkosigan landed.”

Sofia gulped, pulled her hands out of the bags. “A third Vorkosigan invited to dinner, I presume.” She was too new, too interesting for them not to be. “I—” Breathed in through her nose, out through her mouth, repeated it several times. “I will then invite those other two lads.” A pause, consideration. “Lord Ivan and Lord Byerly.” Perhaps they could serve as a distraction unto each other. “But before dinner, before people arrive, Lev, Orel—I spoke with Andrei and Boris already. As sitting Count, I want to offer all of you the formal position of Armsman.” She breathed. “If you choose not to take it, that is your prerogative, know that you will always have a place in my household and in my district.”


	10. dinner party aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of a dinner party.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has been a long time in coming, laying in pieces on my hard drive and in notebooks.  
> I'm currently in the classroom full time, taking two grad level courses that constitute a full load,  
> and I'm getting over (hopefully) a cold which turned into bacterial conjunctivitis, and is lingering as what  
> I'm terrified will be another bout of pneumonia. If the arthritis is not flaring, my lungs are.
> 
> I am hoping on finishing the next chapter by Sunday (finally to the District, some answers, and maybe  
> some romance?). We shall see.

“The dinner was—” Ivan stopped, looked at Byerly, struggling for words to describe it. “Epic.”

“Epic?” Byerly laughed aloud. “Better word choice than I would have had. Amazing, perhaps.” He looked across the table at Vorlemov, and added his own word choice. “Amusing, certainly.”

Vorlemov sighed, shuffled papers. Surely someone had been plotting tonight, but not at _that_ Dinner Party. Honestly, allowing the plotting, and then ferreting out the plotting later might be more useful—having avoided inhibiting it or forcing it to be even more secretive.

“What happened?” Plus with the guest list, _that_ Dinner Party had the potential to be _quite_ amusing.

“Miles is back on planet.” Ivan had heard that news on the tail end of hearing about the now-Former Count Vordarian. His successor, the Count Vordarian, Professor Vordarian. Not the Countess. The news cycle was trying to tick into order, fighting against the bare-bones release from the Court of Counts. “His parents then invited him along.”

“Every single one of the Professor Vordarian’s little beasties showed up for the dinner.” Byerly had been introduced to each and every one of them, including the Nephew of their Betan President. “Professora Montague from the university, two of her graduate students, several members of the History and Government faculty, their spouses and graduate students. It was one of the oddest dinner party mixes I have been to recently.” Ivan’s eyebrow went up. “While sober.” He admitted.

“The Count was already looking exhausted when we arrived. She was ensconced in the library with the students, two of her household, and discussing the logistics of having a travelling professor.” Ivan recounted. “We joined them—I think that the Imperial Service Academy has a very different atmosphere than the University, or does at the levels with whom I’ve been involved so far.”

“The students were touching everything.” Byerly had been disturbed by that. Very disturbed. Perhaps more by the Count’s lack of engagement with the issue than by the touching. She did not seem to mind! “I believe that she will be making a very short trip to Vordarian District this weekend, based on some comments that were made.”

“Leaving?” Vorlemov had received a comm, but he had been otherwise engaged and then the troublesome twosome had arrived. He would have to return that later that evening.

“Probably in the morning.” Ivan had listened as well. That had been insinuated when his Cousin Miles had tried to invite himself over the next day’s afternoon. “I believe that they are assuming that you are accompanying them. Probably after the Binding of the Uncle.” They had not had the time for a private conversation, but from what he had heard and what he knew, it was a safe assumption to make.

 It would also be very traditional for the new Count to watch the condemned be bound for the execution in the Great Square. At one point, he believed, it was a part of the ritual of execution—a warning to others, and the whole Court of Counts and their families would be in the Square to witness and remember the power of the Emperor.

“Then the Count and Countess Vorkosigan arrived, with Miles—she met them formally. With a full exchange of greetings.” Her two household members with her had bristled at his Cousin Miles as he had tried to be as charismatic as possible. Ivan could not tell if his cousin was trying to be political, romantic, or friendly—and it was probably a combination of the three.

“Dinner was—” Raucous. Harrowing. Not as terrifying as the Lady Alys attempting to matchmake for him. “Productive.”

Ivan considered the variety of ways that it had been productive.

“Miles Vorkosigan looked like he had been hit over the head with a hammer.” Byerly smirked at the memory. “The Count Vorkosigan was laughing. The Count Vordarian was—” Byerly paused. “Unimpressed, at least until he started talking about what he has done and learned in-District. Then she started engaging with him. Treated him like an intellectual, and an equal, ignoring the flirting. If he wants to court her, he’d better think it over and plan it properly.” Byerly was half of a mind to try it himself, just to see—but his preferences. She knew her own mind, which was something that he liked in a woman at least.

“The Lady Cordelia and the academics all got on well.” Ivan had been impressed, actually. “The Count Vordarian, her two younger household members were working the room as well.” Ivan thought about it, the way that they had moved and paused- he really needed to permanently etch their names into his memory. “One was usually with her, but they switched every half hour or so. The older two were more of a visible presence, in House Uniform, but she’s—they’ve started working as a unit.” He realized.

Across the table, Vorlemov sighed.

“Continued, really.” He had read every piece of transcript, watched all of the footage that he could get his hands onto. “Family unit.” Vorlemov had wondered if it had been on purpose, by the Count’s father, and then accidentally by her Uncle. When Vincent Vordarian had rerouted that group and the Heir from their rightful place, had he realized what he had done, what he had continued?

Giving a primary protective assignment was a dicey business if one wanted to keep the loyalty of the protectors, especially if the protectee was a small child. One who was already the legal heir. He’d sent the child with a couple to raise. Had the man even realized what he was doing?

“You did not even realize, Ivan.” Byerly sat back, shifted himself. “Are they using a communication device?”

“It was used when they turned in that young idiot.” Vorlemov stated. “I suspect that it is still in play—I would. Recordings can be reviewed later.” He pointed out that fact. “Memories are not perfect.”

“Point.”

 

 

“Tonight was far too intense for me to want to do it again soon.” The most embarrassing part, she had thought as a young adult losing more and more mobility, of needing help sometimes was the indignity of being seen nude by others in all kinds of situations because of the need for help.

The industrial scrubbing in the standing shower between going to Vordarian House and the beginnings of dinner had been more to the point and quite…unceremonious. That had been soap, all of the necessary places, and fast. Making full use of the shower’s handrails and seat. There had been not been enough time to destress for more than the theory of a few muffled sobs, into hands and arms braced against the wall as her whole body had shook, collapsing onto the floor.

This lowering of her body, by her household members, into a bathtub, and then the refusal to leave, that was almost too much.

“The Lord Vorkosigan.” Orel’s smile said a great deal. Bemusement, irritation. “He was certainly trying to figure out if he wanted to court you or court House Vordarian.”

Sofia allowed herself to lay back into the bath, relax against the rock supports, and closed her eyes. She did not open them when the water surged deeper as Orel first followed her in, and then Lev. 

“Boris will not approve.” She leaned into the warm body next to her, and reached out and grabbed the other’s hand.

“There are a great many things that Boris does not approve of.” Lev’s voice had the hint of smirk that she adored. “That does not mean that he gets to make decisions for I or for Orel.”

“It has been a very rough week.” Orel squeezed her hand back. “I do not want you in this tub alone.” The smile always shone through his voice, and she kept her eyes closed. “You are exhausted, and not nearly enough time to rest.”

“I can sleep on the flight to the District in the morning.” Even as she said it, she knew that she would be busy through the flight.

“We’re here to make sure that if you fall asleep in the tub that you don’t drown.” Lev whispered, and she could hear him playing with the taps on the tub. “It’s a big tub.”

It was the size of a small pool, and they had filled it with bubbles before herding her in.

“I know.” There were other reasons as well, but they could wait until another time.


	11. not quite a chapter

Story Two, the sequel to Ascendance, has started.

[Alliances](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19100674) is in it's own section.


End file.
